Tomorrow Could Be Something
by Llama-Egg
Summary: 'I glare at him, and he glares right back at me. Neither of our gazes waver, I don't dare to blink. "Screw you, Stan." I turn away from my super best friend, shoulders sagging. "Just... screw you."' Kenny may not be as straight as he seems, Stan has a secret, and Cartman is desperate to obtain something from Kyle.
1. The Death of Eric Cartman

**Let me be the first to welcome you to the new, and hopefully improved, version of Tomorrow Could be Something, by yours truly!**  
**I'm back, and plan to be here to stay! :D**  
**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

"Fuck, Kenny!" I protest in horror, clinging onto the seat as the driver speeds down the road. The car swerves to a hard right as he tuns the corner with a loud cackle, forcing me to bump into Stan. "Jesus, could you drive any more chaotic?!"

I see his eyes glance at me through the rear view mirror, his lips pulling up into a deviously evil smirk. "I don't know, Kyle. How about we test that theory?" His foot presses down further on the pedal, and the car accelerates quickly.

"Dammit, Kenny! If we arrive safely, I swear to God we will kill you, asshole!" He simply laughs at Stan's murderous threat, choosing to ignore it and drive faster along the highway. Although there weren't cars along the road, there were plenty of trees along the side, and I definitely didn't vote for McCormick to be driver.

"He's not kidding Ken, we seriously will kill you." To emphasize the point, the pair of us look at him gravely, pulling out our trusty pocket knives.

Cartman, bless his demonic heart, turns around to glare at me as he rips the ear buds from his ears. "Quit your bitching, Kahl! I can't hear my music over your stupid jew voice!"

My eyes burn right into his hatefully. Why had I even agreed to come on this trip with _Cartman_ of all people?! "Shut the fuck up, fat ass!" Actually, I should probably put the knife away before I decide that killing him would look good on my criminal record... Although it probably would.

"Well I would, Kahl. But I have a little Jew sensor in my brain, and every time you speak it brings forth my killer instinct." His face is so serious, his soft brown eyes void of any emotion until they harden with his cruel smirk. "I was thinking of resurrecting Hitler, just for you Kahl." He pauses, watching the anger and irritation grow in my eyes. "Just for you." He whispers again, finally. "Hail Hitler."

"Dude." Stan puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from firing insults and accusations the fat asshole obviously deserves. Still annoyed, but calmer than before, I look into my super best friend's warm, familiar eyes. "It's-"

Cartman scoffs, arrogantly sitting in his seat properly as he stares at the open stretch of road grumpily. "Kinny, drop those two fags off somewhere so they can make-out without making me barf in disgust." I wish the knife where in my hand right this very second...

Kenny takes a hand off of the wheel, pulling his hood up over his dirty blond hair, choosing to stay out of this little fight, before slowing down a bit. "Now, now children." He seriously wasn't contemplating that, was he?!

"Kyle and I are clearly old enough to make out wherever we want, whenever we want." Stan huffs, folding his arms over his chest. Dude! "And if you're against it, maybe Kenny should drop you off somewhere. But you'll probably be picturing it anyway. The image of me and Ky dry humping each other in the back of this car will be engraved into your brain. And you'll forever never be able to get rid of that thought."

"I, personally, don't have any problems with that thought in my head." Kenny grins through the mirror.

I scrunch my nose up. "Dude, _I'm_ going to have that forever engraved into my brain. Every time I look at you, I'll probably automatically reference the image of us dry humping! That's sick dude!"

"What?" Stan feigns innocence. "Fatass started it."

Speaking of fatass, I think Cartman died. His large chest isn't rising or falling with each heavy breath he doesn't take, and when I reach over for his wrist to feel for a pulse, I get no response, but that could also be because he is way too fat for me to feel anything. With no other option left, I smack Cartman in the face. Once. Twice. Eighteen times. "You killed him, dude."

"Uhh, what?"

"You killed Cartman, Stan." I repeat. "Your statement literally killed Cartman." A little bit of froth at his mouth rolls down his chins onto his shirt. Ew.

"Oh." He's silent for a bit. "Are you sure?"

I look at him weirdly. "I was hitting him in the face and got no retaliation, I'm pretty sure that means he's dead."

"Oh. OK."

Kenny thrums his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, does this mean we're wanted killers? I mean, we have a dead man in the car."

"There's plenty of barren land out here, we could always bury him to hide the evidence." Stan suggests.

"No," I disagree, "Image how many already dead bodies we'd find before we'd actually get an actual decent place to dig. This would be murdered bodies central, dude."

"What if," Kenny begins, "what if we carried him onto the balcony of the hotel where we're staying, because that's pretty high up, gather a crowd down below by getting Cartman to be about to jump off, and when we push him they'll think that he committed suicide."

"That wouldn't work, Ken," This time the noirette disagrees, "His fat would act like a protective bubble. We'd have to be a few thousand feet in the air for actual damage to take place."

"He's too heavy for us to carry, _and_ imagine all of his fat splattering everywhere," I add, "That's not a sight anyone should behold."

"Well then, since you're so smart, Kyle. What do _you_ suggest we do?" Kenny asks smugly, as if I don't have a decent plan.

"Well, we need to drag him into a dark, secluded alleyway. Then, we place an almost emptied bag of cocaine into his pocket, and the police will suspect an overdose. And, if the morons need proof, they'll check his blood for signs of drugs, so we'll have to make him ingest it, and maybe shoot some into his veins with a syringe. Enough to be lethal, at the very least."

"Do you suppose we might need a prostitute going at him to make it look more realistic?" Kenny asks and I nod. That would be the icing on the cake.

"When we go back home, do you think anyone would care that he died?" Stan wonders, staring at the lifeless body.

The truth of the matter was no. No one would care if they found out he died. He was a brat, he was an asshole, and everyone hated him. When someone you don't like dies, you start to feel regret, and think of their _good_ qualities you couldn't realize when they only showed you the bad. But with Eric Cartman there were only _bad_ qualities behind the bad. He was cunning, and he had a way with words, but they were still _bad_ qualities because of how he used them.

I'm glad he's dead. I wish Stan and I dry humping each other was engraved into his brain _years _ago.

"FUCK!" Suddenly Kenny slams his foot down on the brakes, and the car lurches to a screeching halt. Smoke clouding around the windows from the tires. Kenny's face is incredibly pale; like he had just seen a ghost.

"KINNY YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME YOU POOR PIECE OF FUCKING TURKEY SHIT!" ...It also turns out that the force of the jolt created by the car brought Cartman back to life.

Wonderful.


	2. Best Friends Forever

**No Kyle, _I_ am a fucking moron.**  
**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

The sleeping arrangements were simple. Cartman got the master bedroom with the ensuite because none of us really wanted to share the bathroom with him. Kenny got a room to himself, because no one would volunteer to sleep in the same room with him whilst he was masturbating to those porn magazines he swore on his life he not to bring. Stan and I, of course, were bunking together since we were the best friends Earth had ever known and everything with us was all sunshine and fucking rainbows.

"That was fucking torture," I moan, dropping my bag onto one of the beds, exhausted from the several hours of being in the car, and the three near-death experiences on account of Kenny's driving, "If I have to spend another five minutes sitting in the car listening to Cartman's pop fucking music with Kenny nearly crashing every time he sees a set of hooters, I am going to shoot myself in the fucking head!"

Stan snorts from the other the of the room, and I imagine him rolling his eyes with a small smile on his lips, "Is this a case for Doctor McCormick, Ky?"

"Ugh, oh God no." I whine, falling backwards onto the bed with my head reeling from the events of the day. Calling in Doctor McCormick, 'animal species expert', will not help. At all. And yet, through half lidded eyes, I see Stan lean out the doorway, calling for the Doctor. Fucking dick.

The hooded figure enters the room, a brow raised as he glances from me, unable to move, to Stan, wiping away non-existent tears. Kenny walks to my side, frowning thoughtfully as he prods my cheek with his index finger, "All my studies have shown that this is Kyle giving himself to you." He says that like I do this frequently, and no matter how hard I try, I can't raise my hand to flip him the bird. God dammit.

Instead of defending my honour, my apparent Suer Best Friend starts to laugh. There's nothing funny about Doctor Pervert's _false_ remark. "No, no. It's all for you, Doc! I was talking about you and then Kyle fainted."

I open my mouth to protest, finally having the strength to sit up, only to have Kenny push me back down forcefully, "Mr Broflovski, I'm afraid that until this little, uh, _predicament_ of yours has been sorted out, it is very dangerous for you to sit up."

Alright, I do not at all like where this is heading. Before you can say 'Doctor McCormick', I'm being straddled by a now jacketless blonde who finds it necessary to pin both of my arms above my head. "What the fuck are you doing?" I speak slowly, my body tense and my mind unsure of how far this whole Animal Species Expert thing would be taken, "Get the fuck off of me, you creep."

He turns to face Stan, beaming with his massive grin and sticking his thumb up into the air as he prepares his talk show host voice, "Today, boys and girls, we examine the ferocious beast, Kylee Bear." Stan chuckles at Kenny's ridiculous commentary, and I hear his feet shuffle closer. The blonde male, heavy despite his poor living conditions, pushes my bag from the bed.

"Stop being a fucking creep, Kenneth. I know which room you're sleeping in, and I know the perfect way to extract revenge." As if wanting to deny the fact that I could easily get him back, he covers a hand firmly over my mouth, causing me to gag; everyone knows the place his hand often ventures to.

He turns his upper body again, "Marsh, come in closer, we need a better shot for the viewers." Stan obeys, and a see his grinning face behind a camera as he leans forward. OK. What the fuck. This is where the line is fucking drawn. I struggle against Kenny's hold, but my lean, slimmer body is no match against his stronger, muscled one. That dickhole obviously has the upper hand. Why did I let it get this far anyway?

I try to use my legs against him, but he doesn't even flinch! He continues looking straight into the camera, wearing a professional look that shows that he knows exactly what he is doing, "You know you've spotted a Kylee Bear when you see such a creature in a green ushanka, like this one. If you're lucky enough, you can see this beautiful piece of creation without his hat, however, this is an extremely rare occurrence." Kenny grins down at me, flaring up my annoyance, "Marsh, would you do the honors?"

Stan, my now ex best friend, nods "Gladly, Doctor McCormick." His hand reaches down, and pulls off my ushanka. I glare hatefully at him, yelling insults at him. Unfortunately they all come out muffled and unintelligible.

"Notice how the hair isn't, in fact, that ginger orange, but a red, almost auburn color." Fuck you Kenny. "His eyes are always this shade of green., but depending on his mood may lighten or darken. Marsh, are you picking up the hateful emotions these eyes portray? There is only one known beast to successfully make the Kylee Bear happy and at ease, and that is the Stanley Bear-"

"Kenny!" Stan shouts, slapping Kenny on the back his head. This time I snicker in amusement at the pain that fleets across the dirty blonde's light blue eyes.

He clears his throat. "As I was saying, boys and girls... Notice the way the Kylee Bear acts now that the Stanley Bear intervenes." Another slap to the back of his head, and my laughing continues. It obviously hurts more than he's willing to admit to Stan, with his unaffected posture. "Perhaps the pair are mates -OW! Dammit Stan!- but of the mates which is male, and which is female? -OW!- Stanley Bear is obviously the more territorial of the two, but I'm not sure where that puts him."

It's getting awfully hard to breathe with Kenny's hand over my mouth as I laugh hard enough to have tears leaking from my clenched shut eyes. Each blow the blonde receives from the darker haired male just makes me laugh harder, and I don't even know why. "Although the Kylee Bear appears to be amused, to normal eyes, it is in fact his way of showing his arousal at the way his mate, the Stanley Bear, is -OW- at the way the Stanley Bear is showing off, and fighting for his mate. -GAH! Alright! Alright, Stan! I get it! I'll stop!" Kenny whines, removing his hand from my mouth to rub the back of his head. Too preoccupied with laughing, I don't hurl insults at him. "The Stanley Bear is obviously very jealous with my compromising position on his mate!" He howls in pain, but seems satisfied with finishing his remarks.

"Kenny, this is a documentary on Kylee Bear, there's no such thing as a Stanley Bear." Stan huffs, smirking triumphantly despite the fact that Kenny had said all he wanted to say on that subject. "Continue on, Doc."

"Now that the Kylee Bear is distracted, overcome by full on arousal -don't you dare hit me- we can now determine the sex of this creature." His hand speedily unzips my coat, causing my laughter to abruptly stop, being replaced with alarm.

I squirm under him, trying to free my arms as his hand begins to unzip the fly of my pants. "Get the fuck off of me, pervert!"

The blonde grins easily. "Don't worry, Kyle. You're not my type; you need to have tits bigger than Cartman's." He rolls his eyes at my obvious relief. "But this is more so for Stanley Bear-" Laughing loudly he uses both arms to block Stan's oncoming attacks, the camera still recording the scene.

With my arms finally free, I put my hands on Kenny's chest, and push him off of me, onto the floor. This time I have the upper hand, straddling him and forcing him to stay on the ground with my hands tightly enclosed around his dirtied white shirt. "I will kill you, Doctor McCormick!"

Kenny laughs easily, groping my chest. "You're lacking titties, Kyle. Don't act like I violated you." He turns to Stan with a grin. "You got everything?" His reply is a thumbs up.

Assholes.

Cartman had slipped out a few hours ago taking the car with him, to God knows where. Probably to the candy factory a few short miles away from the hotel we're staying at for the next few days. Kenny was bummed about not being able to go wherever it was he wanted to go, I, however, was relieved to be able to spend the remaining hours of the days free from that stupid fatass.

The breeze that rolls over the balcony is slightly chilled, yet refreshing all the same. The final sun rays spew coloured of gold and purple onto the landscape. My fingers fiddle with the corner of the page before turning it, my eyes follow along with the words. Getting gripped by the story, my mind quickly begins to block out my awareness of nature's beauty.

"AHH!" I cry out in alarm, my whole body jerking as I drop the novel. Something had hit me, it was unexpected enough to startle me. "Stan!" I glare at the snickering boy, trying to hide the fact that my hands are shaking.

"Sorry?" He grins sheepishly, and I sigh. Stan is... well... Stan is Stan, and he's the best super best friend I could ever ask for. I've known him almost my entire life, being attached at the hip since kindergarten when he saved my ass from the satanic fat boy, Eric Cartman.

Stan Marsh has bright blue eyes to colour of a royal bluebell, although he hates it when I say it aloud. His nose is slightly crooked, a result from getting into a fist fight with Clyde some years ago, although you can only tell if you're actually looking for it. He's always warn his blue and red poofball hat, almost like he's attached to it or something (not like I can talk) but it suits him, with the way it contrasts against his dark raven hair.

His skin has always been suntanned, a trait I'm deeply jealous of, although he's always wearing his brown jacket and long, dark denim jeans. Stan is fit, obviously, and he definitely had obvious muscles, but he'd never use performance enhancing drugs. He's quarterback for the South Park football team, and to be scrawny wouldn't serve him well at all. The love he has for animals, namely whales and his old dog Sparky, is definitely a positive trait although some times I think he may over do it it a bit..

People think it's weird that Stan and I are still friends, and we're often mistaken as a gay couple because of how close we are. The idea of that makes me sick to my stomach, I'm not homophobic, not at all! It's just that the love I have for him, is about as much as I have for my _brother_ Ike. We're like brothers, and we accept each others faults without hesitation. "Dude?" He throws something else in my direction, and I snap back into attention. "Kyle?"

I rub my eyes tiredly, resisting the urge to yawn. "Sorry, I was just thinking... Did you want something, Stan?"

He looks at me oddly, but doesn't comment on why he made that strange expression. "That book looked an awful lot like the one we were supposed to be reading for English."

"Yeah, so?"

"_So_, we're meant to be having fun, staying up all night drinking, playing video games, I don't know, we're not supposed to be reading for school! Just, chill a lil bit, Ky. Have some fun in the sun-"

"It's evening, dick."

"The point hasn't changed. We have a couple of hours without any fat interruptions, so make the most of it dude! Cartman has already said that he's got a lot of stuff to do while we're here, so that's a bonus. You, me and Ken. Ain't that some darned good fun we can have?"

"Stan..." I place my hands on his knees gently, as if preparing to tell him some horrible, life changing news, "Hate to break it to you, but the only 'fun' had with Kenny, is him trying to rape us. I wouldn't be surprised if sometime tomorrow the three of us will be on the floor, wearing nothing but our underwear, as we're in a dogpile spooning or some shit like that. That isn't exactly fun, Stan. That's gay."

He seems to hesitate a little, "It's not gay, it's... male bonding?"

"Uhuh... Right. OK. I'll accept that, even though I kinda _like _keeping my pants on. So, is there any reason you decided to interrupt my 'nerd-out' time? Or were you afraid I was contagious?"

His lips quirk, "Seventeen years, dude. Seventeen years and I'm pretty sure I've caught all of the contagious stuff already." His smile falters a little, and I have a feeling I know where this is headed, "Wendy messaged me, and said she thought it might be good if we tried again. She said she misses me."

I find myself frowning, my dislike for Wendy Testaburger growing further. Truth be told, I am pretty sick of this whole Wendy/Stan ordeal, and don't see why he keeps running back into her arms after all of the things she has said and done. The last two years have been the worst, especially two months ago, when they broke up, Stan and I had found some paper which Wendy and Bebe had used to talk to each other during class, obviously forgetting to discard the evidence.

It was obvious who Wendy was talking about, even as she continued to write 'He is a total waste of time and effort, I swear to God, Bebe. I don't know why I keep putting up with him, he's been ruining EVERYTHING! I don't even know why I love him, even though I want to get rid of him every time I look at those eyes of his, and that pathetic, desperate look he always wears. "Just do what you think is right." I mumble finally, knowing that what he thinks is right is to hook up with her. Again.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, looking at me with the same strange expression he had used earlier, one that I can't read, before shaking his head and beaming, "What the fuck am I on about? Just before I was having a go at you for being nerdy, and here I am bring unnecessary drama onto our trip. Why don't you read to me tonight?"

"What happened to the Stan Marsh who was anti-nerd just moments ago?" I raise a brow.

"I want a bedtime story," He makes his eyes go impossible large and adorable, and I resist the urge to call out their colouring, "and I wanna be tucked into bed, all warm and snuggly, with hot chocolate with the little marshmellows, and, um, a kiss on the forehead goodnight."

"Awh," I coo, reaching over to pinch his cheek, "Has Stan the Man stayed up past his bedtime?"

"Yes," he pouts.

I roll my eyes and stand up, acting like I'm being burdened with some heavy, impossible task, "Do you need your nappy changed, too? Or are you a big boy and know how to do it yourself?"

"I'm a big boy." He sulks, folding his arms across his chest with a huff. "Kyle.." The raven haired boy says softly into the cool, quiet air, his voice losing all of it's previous playfulness, "Do you think that we'll stay Super Best Friends, even when we're all grown up and married to chicks and have kids?"

"Well, I would imagine so, Stan," I smile weakly, giving him an odd look, "We've gone through too much together for us not to remain Super Best Friends, dontcha think?"

He's silent, and for a few moments I think he's not going to say a word. "Can you promise me that, Ky? Can you promise me that you won't forget me when you're on your journey to becoming great?"

"Hey," I punch him on the arm lightly, unsure of what brought on his sudden needy mood, "I'm only going to be someone great, if you're there by my side. Isn't that what it means to be Super Best Friends? Without your friendship, I'd be nothing, dude. Don't think I'm going to let you go so easily!" He seems to deflate at this, or relax. I'm not quite sure.

Kenny bursts out from the door, looking proud of himself, as though he'd completed a great fete. "Guess who finally convinced Bebe to send a nudie to them?" He stares longingly at his phone screen. "This picture could last me a lifetime."

"You're a fucking moron."


	3. The Red Badge of Gayness

**There is a slim chance that yes, I did in fact, go overboard with the last scene. Sue me. ...actually, please don't...**  
**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

I was up until the early morning hours reading to Stan, who despite having had his hot chocolate whilst he was tucked safely into bed, he refused to go to sleep, finding it absolutely necessary to ask ridiculous questions each chapter. No Stan, I'm not sure whether or not the author was high when he wrote that scene.

It is this exact reason that I was asleep at 10 o'clock when Stan decided to wake me, earning the glare I am now sending his way. Don't you dare grin sheepishly, you dick. Ugh. "What is it? Is the meadow on fire?"

"Uh, no it isn't, um, Charlie?"He sends me an unsure look, apparently already dressed and completely awake, "I was just wondering if I could go out with Kenny?"

I pause, allowing the words to sink into my sleepy brain. Maybe I heard wrong, I tell myself, sitting up in the bed and ribbing my eyes a little, "Huh? I missed that, what did you say?"

"Kyle, is it OK if I go out with Kenny?" He repeats, looking a little nervous.

Stan was gay?

Stan didn't _look_ gay.

I had always expected him to be the _least_ likely to be gay.

Maybe that was why he acts awkward sometimes, and why he's always on and off with Wendy.

Did she know he was gay?

Would he come out to _her_ before _me_?

"Oh!" I say aloud, understanding why he questioning our friendship last night. He must've been afraid that I would hate him for being homosexual. "Why are you asking me, Stan? I don't really care," I grin supportively. "go for it, dude." Sure, it would be a little weird, but it'd work! That's why we're super best friends! Whether he was gay or not, Stan and I were friends forever!

"Well I just thought that you-" He shakes his head, laughing lightly. "Never mind." I push down the blankets, and swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up on the cool plush carpet. Bursting with energy, I open up the bedroom door, then rush back to Stan, practically pushing him into the living room. "Kyle-"

"Good morning, boys!" Kenny grins brightly, wearing nothing but his usual orange pants as he waves to us from the sofa. His dirty blond hair is messier than usual, his fringe hanging loosely in his blue eyes, only able to be described as the sky's blue colour on a perfect cloudless day. His muscles are well defined, quite a few bruises and scars marking his chest and arms. "I trust you two had a wonderful sleep." He winks.

Kenny McCormick is the biggest pervert I know, having a complete sexual understanding since he was about... God knows when, probably since _birth_. Although a pervert he is, he is the most selfless person in town often risking his life for us and dressing up as Mysterion to help calm down his younger sister, Karen, who is still oblivious to her hero's true identity.

He's always claiming that he'll only date people with 'titties bigger than Cartman' but that's either a cover up, or Stan's the only guy he has gay feelings for. Well, the only other explanation is that a certain SBF got breast implants to impress the tall male.

Kenny shoves another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, barely waiting until he's swallowed the contents before he speaks up again. "I was thinking we could go to that place we drove past on the way here, we have quite a few things to, uh," His eyes shift onto me for a few moments, "'discuss',"

Stan's cheeks turn a bright red as he clears his throat, hesitantly taking a few steps towards the blonde, "Uh, yeah. I heard Cartman come back in last night, but what time did he leave again? Where the fuck has he even been going?" Not wanting to intrude on their possible little love match, I sit on the armchair across from them, watching closely, looking for any obvious hints they may display of their relationship I may have missed previously.

Kenny shrugs. "Damned if I knew. He just said something about having a series of meetings with a group called... Shit. I'm pretty sure he said Page Fuck. Or something." His eyes move to me, and he frowns. "Why do you have that look on your face, Kyle? I feel kinda violated." He pauses a moment. "Man, I do not really like being on the receiving end of this emotion."

Stan looks a little uncomfortable, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels until he decides to tug on Kenny's wrist, "Alright, let's go! Sooner we leave, the better!" Amidst the rush, Kenny nearly spills his cereal everywhere as he tries placing it neatly on the coffee table, and barely grabs his shirt from the couth before being practically dragged out from the room. He doesn't even have his shoes!

I quickly stand, prepared to run after them with his pair of relatively new joggers, but stop myself. They were probably already enjoying their alone time right this very second. They would probably be embarrassed, possibly ashamed.

Actually. The more I think about it, the more it bothers me. And the fact that I'm actually bothered, bothers me more.

It's just... Stan and Kenny. Kenny and Stan. What? _How_? Kenny has always been much more interested in things with breasts, constantly saying that for him to be interested in someone, they have to have tits bigger than Cartman. So that should be enough proof that he is interested in girls... or really fat males. Both things that Stanley is definitely not. I, as his closest friend, can vouch for that! We tend to share the same fucking bed for Christ's sake; I'd be pretty damn sure if he - wait. Shit.

Mother fucking _damn_.

This means that not only am I not going to have Stan to myself anymore, and when I do, we most certainly won't be allowed to share the bed, no matter how cold the night. _And_, to make matters worse, we won't be able to talk anywhere near as much during the breaks at school; Stan will probably be sitting on Kenny's lap, their chests pressed up against one another as they make out... like Kenny does with all his other girlfriends.

The thought makes me nauseated.

Why didn't he tell me he was gay sooner?!

Why did he decide to randomly bring it up to me, like "Hey dude, can I date Kenny?", I mean, _come on_! Give me sufficient time to wake up so that my head cann actually _process_ the idea of you being gay, Stan!

Ugh.

Now I'm stuck in the hotel, all alone and frustrated. I must look like a fucking crazy person pacing back and forth, muttering incoherent nothings, tugging at the ends of my hair.

_Ugh_.

I feel like Tweek Tweak.

OK. Stop right there Kyle Broflovski. Just stop thinking in cluttered messes, and take this in one at a time. OK. Deep breath.. Good. Here we go.

One; Stan Marsh is gay. Yes, OK, I can deal with that.

Two, Stan Marsh is gay with Kenny McCormick. How could he _do_ this to me?! I'm his best friend, for fuck sake! _No_, his _super_ best friend! Why would he fucking do this to me?! This is betrayal of the worst kind! He never told me! I bet he told _Wendy_ before he told me! And Jesus, _Kenneth_ of all people?! That fucking dickweed couldn't even give me any kind of clue that he was stalking his own gender?! Why did it have to be the ladies man of all possible suitors?! Fucking asshole!

Shit, calm down Kyle! You can do this. Just try again, and we'll see if we can avoid catching this snag again. Alright. Deep breath. Excellent. Try again. _Slower_.

Stan Marsh. Gay. OK, I can handle that fact perfectly fine, even if I'm upset he didn't tell me sooner.

Kenny McCormick. Bisexual. I guess I saw this coming. He was too straight for his own good.

Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick. Gay. _Together_. I'll fucking kill them! I'll kill both of them mother fucking traitors! How dare they! How _dare_ they! This is not OK! This is _not_ OK!

Holy fuck, there it is again. I don't think I'm going to avoid hitting that snag. This is hopeless. I give up. I'm afraid that trying to find out what's causing the snag will piss me off more. Breathe Kyle, breathe. I refuse to think about it.

Starting from now I won't let it cross my mind how much of a fucking asshole Stan is for not even caring enough to tell his Super Best Friend his true sexuality, or how quickly that perverted Maniac Kenny was going to seduce him.

FUCKING MOTHER FUCKING FUCKER!

That asshole is going to deflower my Stan! This can't happen! I won't allow it! I have to do something! I have to -

"Kyle!" Cartman is standing there beaming at me, although it appears slightly forced, "I got you something," he drags a massive garbage bag forwards to it rests at the front of his feet, it appears to be filled to the brim with... stuff.

"Huh?" I finally focus on his, noticing how bright his face is, the sweat beats dripping from his forehead and just how out of breath he is, "What happened to you?"

His fake grin turns into a scowl, "Oh my God, I am so fucking seriously, Kyle. Stupid fucking janitor told me that the fucking elevator wasn't working, so I had to come up those several fucking flights of stairs, only to discover THAT THE FUCKING JANITOR HAD LIED, AND THE ELEVATOR WAS WORKING PERFECTLY FUCKING FINE! STUPID ASSHOLE! THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I HATE STUPID FUCKING MEXICANS AND THEIR STUPID FUCKING LAZINESS AND ASSHOLENESS!" He ranted, throwing his beanie to the floor in rage.

"I don't know, Cartman." I state boredly, now uninterested in why it looked like he had returned from running a marathon. "Seems to me that the exercise could be helpful to get rid of some of your excess fat, lardbutt."

He simply glares at me and responds with complete serenity, "I'm not fat, Kahl. I'm just big boned." He sighs, forcing a sweet smile, clear from malicious intent, "So anyway, take this bag. It's all yours." He opens the bag, and shows me the contents, and immediately I feel sick.

"You got me a garbage bag of candy?" I manage to choke out, lightheaded at the strong smell of sugar that fills the air. This is a pretty lousy attempt at trying to kill me. "I'm not touching any of that."

"What?" He glares at me, offended, "Why the fuck not? I didn't even poison them or nuthin'!"

"Even if you didn't, I'm still diabetic asshole."

Grudgingly he closes the bag again, "Goddammit. I'm sorry, Kahl. I really tried to do something nice for you, and I couldn't even remember that you were infested with diabetes."

I frown, eyeing him suspiciously. "It's alright... I guess."

"No." He says, looking into my eyes tenderly, his own filled with regret and sorrow. He kneels on the ground in front of me, grabbing my hand in his. "Kahl, I've recently learned something, you know? We've been through a _lot_ together, hell, we've been through WWIII together, and we found a cure for AIDS together."

"Yeah, after you gave me AIDS you fucking tub of lard." I accuse. He's making me nervous.

Cartman squeezes my hand tightly, although not in a way to cause pain. Just comfortingly. "Now's not the time to go around calling people tubs of lard, Kahl. I just want to let you know, that I appreciate everything. I've come to realize that no matter what, you've been there for me. I'm extremely grateful to have you as a friend-"

"We're not friends, Cartman." I interrupt. "And I'm not giving you any favours."

His eyes harden, as he releases me. "The fuck?! You don't even know what I want from you! Ugh. Typical sleazy Jew. Fuck you, you stupid ginger! Fuck you and your fucking antics!" He glances at his watch, and his features soften again. "I'm sorry for shouting, Kahl. I just... I got mad." His fingers caress my cheek, and I shudder in extreme discomfort. "I must go for another meeting." He kisses my forehead, just above my brow. "Forgive me?"

-.-.-.-

What's a guy supposed to do when he's on a short vacation and all of his friends have left to do something else? Why, he turns on the heater, and _cleans_ of course. In my defense Kenny obviously hadn't started his day with wanting cereal for breakfast. The burnt eggs, charred bacon and about thirty separate dishes are proof of that fact.

But, with the excuse of me cleaning the hotel apartment, I could also slip into Kenny's bedroom and mess around with a few of his things. I want revenge on him for _four_ reasons. The first being because of the fucking Doctor McCormick incident last night, the second because he fucking trashed the kitchen on our first morning, no less, let's not go into the third since I'm likely to get pissed again. The final reason is because we made a deal, and he has no doubt broken it.

I slip into his room, and rummage through his suitcase, smirking when I find his old stash of porn magazines. I pull them out, placing them on the ground and quickly grab the stack of magazines supplied by the hotel. Very carefully, I tear the covers from each one, and replace the insides of the porn with the insides of the 'What Kenny McCormick finds Boring' magazines such as _better homes and gardens_, _O, The Oprah Magazine_ and _Prevention Magazine_. Not wanting to seem _too_ nasty, by throwing his porn in the trash, I put them in the place where Kenny would never look; the cupboard with all the cleaning products.

With his room neat and tidied, I move onto the room Stan and I are, naturally, sharing. I, obviously, had already put everything away, but Stan, however... He's not exactly the most organized person I know. He and Kenny, now an item, are probably going to be spending much more time together, so he probably won't have much time to fix his things up.

I make his bed slowly, frowning. What if he forgets about me completely? What if -Oh Abraham- what if Kenny turns him into a sex crazed beast?! I don't want to lose my best friend, I especially don't want to lose him over the fact that he turned into a freaking sex maniac... _like Kenny_.

God fucking damn it, this is why I swore not to let their relationship cross my mind.

Pulling out my phone with shaky hands I put in the number I know by heart. "Come on, come on!" I murmur, pacing. "GOD DAMMIT, ANSWER THE PHONE YOU FUCKING ASSHAT, STANLEY!"

"Kyle?!"

"Oh, uh. Hi."

"Why am I an asshat?" He asks slowly. "Wait, no. Why'd you call me Stanley? Did I do something wrong?"

"Well, uh..." I stutter. "It _is_ your name, isn't it?"

"Dude."

I let out a huff of air, and sit on his bed. "Alright, alright, alright. There is a reason for me calling up and disrupting you two." I assure him.

"It's OK," I imagine him shrugging, "Kenny and I were just finishing up anyway." Finishing up...? Oh God, oh God, oh God. They just had _sex_?! It was too late! I'm too late! I've lost my Super Best Friend to Kenny McCormick; fucking Sex God! "Kyle? Kyle, you there?" Maybe I'm over thinking this... I mean, how long had it taken him to _kiss_ Wendy. "Kyle? Hello? Dude, you alright?" Is him turning into a man-whore going to mean the end of a beautiful long friendship? "Kyle!" I grin; nahh.

"Sorry, dude." My voice is suddenly cheery, as long as he didn't cheat on Kenny, or forget his Super Best Friend, it would all be OK. "I got distracted. Why'd ya pick up if you two were, 'busy'?"

"Uhh, because we're not anymore? We're just finishing up, so we're cleaning up. You know? Uh, anyway... I answered because it's you, Kyle. What if someone came up and tried to kill you while you were alone? ...shut up Kenny..."

I pause. "How'd you know I was alone? Cartman could be here?"

Stan starts laughing, and I frown. "Dude, this is _Cartman_ and _you_ we're talking about. You would kill each other if left alone for too long. No, but really we saw him down the street, and he said something about you being a 'fucking diabetic asshole who should go lay in a pool of sugar and die'."

"Well, let me just call the sugar company, I'll see what I can come up with! Well, Stan. I'd best let you go before Kenny kills me first. Have fun."

"Alright? Um, see ya in a bit. Bye."

-.-.-.-

By the time the two lovebirds come home, I'm already hanging upside down on the couch, with a controller in my hand as I kill some zombies on the TV screen. "Well, after that phonecall, I thought that you would have been naked in bed waiting for Stan to return."

I pause the game, and glare at the blonde lazily, flipping him an upsidedown bird. "I was bored. And lonely. And the sugar company wouldn't fill the pool."

Stan's hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks nervous with Kenny's arm slung around his shoulders. "I'm sorry dude, I wanted to have you come along, so you wouldn't be left out but Kenny and I really needed to talk."

"Eh." I shrug. "I've had some fun of my own."

"Sick dude."

I scoff. "Not that! Dammit. I've spent most of the day cleaning Kenny's mess in the kitchen. Dude, do you know how to cook or even _clean_?!"

He gives me a friendly lopsided grin. "Why should I even try to learn when it's clearly a woman's job." He motions towards me. "Exhibit A."

"Fuck you!" I growl halfheartedly, throwing my phone at his head because I still need the controller to play, obviously. But, of course, he has to catch it before it makes contact with his skull. "Ugh."

He removes his arm from Stan's shoulders, and begins to play with my phone. "Let's see what Mr Broflovski has on his phone..."

I roll my eyes, unpausing the game and returning to kicking some undead butt. "Kenny, the guys at the studio called up; they said that we had to be there at about six o'clock in the morning so they we could meet the teams we're up against, and run through the rules." A zombie drags it's limping body towards my player, but I'm too late to defend myself against it. "God damn it..."

"Did he say how many other people we were up against?" Stan finally pipes up, frowning at Kenny. "Or, what our odds were for winning?"

I glance at him. "Our odds? Dude, in the resume Kenny sent to the studio, he probably sent complete crap to make it seem like we were freaking super humans. I don't think our odds would be entirely accurate." I restart the game from that level, annoyed at how I let myself die to such a weak leveled zombie. Ugh. "He did say that there were nine other teams, all with four players, as you should know from reading the guide they sent to us." Finally, I roll onto my stomach and allow myself to fall comfortably onto the floor, not breaking my game play. "Five teams, including ours, are completely male, Three are male and female based, and the other two have all four members female."

"Do you think we stand a chance at winning, though Kyle?"

My lips pull up slightly. "Of course. We work very well together, Stan, and that combined with Kenny's all round endurance and Cartman's willingness to do anything for money, we're sure to win!"

"Your phone's boring," The blonde whines, throwing my mobile onto my back, I spare a moment to glare at him. "All you have on it, besides texts, are photos of Stan's ass."

"How do you know that they all belong to him?" I say seriously, deciding to play along with him. "I recall at least one belonging to you, Ken."

"Dude!" Stan protests, and I sigh. I died again.

"Be a pal and finish this level for me, I've never been able to complete it." He shrugs, and begins to limp his way towards me. _Limp_?!

Holy fuck. They really did seal the deal. So soon in their relationship too. Well, assuming that this is their first day as a couple.

My Stan has been deflowered. What should have been a memorial occasion makes me want to cry.

-.-.-.-

Stan and I are in the middle of a co-op game when Kenny cries out into the silence. "Oh God, no!"

"Kenny? You alright?" Stan and I call out together, glancing at each other a little worried. The words 'GAME OVER' appear on the screen.

The tall male, with drooped shoulders, lugs his body into the lounge room and squeezes onto the couch in-between the two of us. "My life is over." He sniffles, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. "Everything that once made sense to me is now a completely confusing mystery. I don't know who to trust anymore!"

"Dude."

"Do you know how long I had them?" He whines, huffing. "I've had those ones for three months! I barely knew them! And now..."

"Kenny," Stan asks hesitantly, giving me an odd look which I return. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"My magazines, Stanley! My most favoured and cherished magazines!" Oh. I had forgotten what I did earlier. "Why are you smirking, Kyle?! You did this, didn't you?!"

"Did we, or did we not have a deal?" I inquire in a businessy voice, "If you brought porn with you, I was allowed to confiscate them. So I did. Don't you have an imagination for this sort of stuff, anyway dude?" I wince.

"It's not the same." He hits himself in the head with the palm of his hand, before brightening up dramatically. "I have Bebe!" He leaps up and runs to the table, cradling his phone to his cheek. "My precious, precious device! I need you until I can get revenge on Kyle for being a massive dick!"

"Sick." Stan scrunches up his nose, pulling down his beanie slightly.

Once again, the blue eyed blonde sits in-between us, going through his phone images. "I'm going to show you guys this, but only because I love you two. Except for Kyle, who can suck one for all I care." He opens up the image he wanted, and smiles in awe. "Bebe's a babe, isn't she."

"That's not Bebe." I shrug nonchalantly, and Kenny glares at me. "Dude, I'm telling you; that's _not_ Bebe."

"How would you know, Kyle? You're an inexperienced dorky little Jew."

"Thanks." I mumble distastefully. "I've seen Bebe naked three times dude, that's not her body."

"You've seen Bebe Stevens naked."

"Yes."

"Three times."

"Yes."

"_You've see_-"

"God damn it, Kenny. _Yes_." I snap, irritated and offended. "Why do you find that so hard to believe that I've seen Bebe naked?"

"Because not even _I_ have seen her naked! Not even _once_!"

Kenny turns to Stan, who shrugs, "Kyle's seen Bebe naked, dude."

"_Kyle Broflovski_."

"Yep."

"...and _Bebe Stevens_."

"Yes."

"_Three_ times?!"

"Uhuh, I was even there for one."

"_WHAT_?!" The blonde shrieks, close to pulling his hair out. "_Why was I not notified of this_?!"

"Because it's not a big deal, Kenny," I supply, irritated at his massive overreaction, "You know I tutor her, and one day she requested that I went to her place for a study session. She had just gotten out of the shower and her towel _accidentally_ dropped. And before you say anything, we didn't do anything because I'm not a sick pervert like you, asshole!" He looks a little betrayed.

"That only accounts for one of the times. I wanna know what happened when you and Stan were there."

Stan rolls his eyes, "Drop it, Ken."

"What?! No! Do you guys _know_ how long I've been trying to get laid by Bebe Stevens, the bustiest, most sexiest girl in the _entire _South Park?!" He flails his arms wildly, nearly smacking me in the face in the process, "And you guys just get a show for free? Pfft! Life is so unfair."

"Guess you don't want to know about the others, then..." I mumble quietly, not expecting to be heard.

"_Others_?!" Both boys, light and dark haired, gape at me. Shit.

I roll my eyes, "Fucking hell, don't act like I've committed a serious crime. I may not have as much going for me as you two, but fuck. Yes, I've seen girls naked in flesh before. Dicks."

Stan raises a brow, showing the same betrayal Kenny is. "Dude, you only told me about the Bebe ordeal, and now it's suddenly plural."

"Yeah, well. I don't have to tell you every little thing that happens, now do I _mum_?! Fucking hell. No, puppy dog eyes don't work on me Stan. Kenny... Aww... Kenny, stop it! I'm not looking at you! Come on, stop it! If I can't see you guys doing those eyes then it won't work on me. GOD DAMMIT! No, stop! Fuck you two and your god damned blue eyes! Ugh. I'm not telling you guys what happened, other than it involves them thinking it's OK to grab my ass, and try weird fucking things to see if it's true or not." I huff. "Fuck you both."

"I wished they grabbed my ass while naked," Kenny whines, before a look of understanding passes his eyes, "This doesn't have anything to do with Cartman convincing the entire school that you're gay, does it?" He notices my glare and laughs, "Shit, I should pretend to be gay so that they'll test my gayness! Holy fuck, Kyle! How did they react when they realized you were straight! Oh fuck me dead, I was worried that I would have to compete against a geek!"

For a few moments I just stare at the blonde emotionlessly before my brows furrow and a small threatening scowl touches my lips. I tackle him to the floor, holding the collar of his shirt in one hand, and raising the other into a threatening fist. "Take that back, asshole! You're just jealous that I've seen more South Park girls naked than you have!"

Kenny suddenly becomes crestfallen, wounded at the fact that while he had to work his ass off to get laid, I had girls inviting me over and simply taking off their clothes. Even it it were only because they thought I was gay. **"Kyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalll."**He pouts sadly.

"Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy." I mock, using the same whiny voice.

_"Sssssssssssssssssttaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannn!" _ Stan's war cry is the last thing I head before a heavy weight jumps atop of me, in an attempt to save our other friend from doom.

"God damn, you weigh a ton fatty!"

**"Tell me about it, you're **_**both**_** on top of me!"**

_"I'm not fat, I'm big boned!"_

"Please don't talk like that. Never ever again. Please. _Please_?"

**"Kyle, if you move your hand a little lower I could show you how a real man wor- OW!"**

"I strongly suggest you shut up, Kenny! That was just a warning!"

_"Don't make this any gayer than it needs to be, Ken."_

**"So... That means you guys **_**aren't**_** up for a threesome? OW! Why'd you both hit me?! It's not gay if it's a three-way!"**

"Yes it is."

**"What?"**

"There needs to be a girl in the equation, jackass."

**"But... you **_**are**_** our girl, K- OW! Feisty, I like that."**

_"Just so you know, if there wasn't risk of midget getting hurt, I'd totally kick you where it hurts."_

"I'm not a midget, Stanley! You're four inches taller than - Hey! Give me back my hat, butt pirate!"

**"Will you two quite squirming! I don't want Cartman to walk in on our passionate love making, so we'd best move it to the bedroo-OW! Will you quit hitting me!"**

_"Will you quit being a pervert!"_

**"How is wanting a threesome with my best buds perverse, Stan..?"**

_"Dude..."_

**"Ugh. Fine. You can go and ditch, Stan, I am going to have my way with this sexy, feminine looking boy on me, whether you're part of this dogpile or not... Did I seriously say that and not get hit?"**

"Sorry, my movements are really constricted. We may need to starve Stan for the duration that we're here."

**"OW! That was very delayed, but I admit that I totally deserved th- OW! Stan?!"**

_"Sorry, I meant to hit Kyle."_

"OW!"

_"Stop calling me fat, ass rammer!"_

"But you are fat, Stan! You're packing on the kilo's for - OW! - for hibernation!"

**"Wait, wait! Before you guys resume fighting, just let me get my hand down my pa- OW! I'm preparing myself for the orgy! OW!"**

_"You know what, guys? This is pretty damn comfortable."_

"Maybe that's because, oh, I dunno, _there are no fatties sitting on you, you cock sucker_! OW!"

**"Stop calling him fat Kyle. He's clearly an endangered species of whale! OW!"**

"I think it's time we put him into place, Kenny. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

**"I sure am, K2!"**

"That's lame."

**"...what?"**

_"I'm not taking Kyle's side, since he's an ass licker and all, but when was the last time Bananas in Pajamas was cool? And changing it from B to K to match your names doesn't make the reference any cooler."_

**"...I thought it was pretty creative..."**

"He's trying to get us off topic, Ke... K1."

**"BOO-YA! Ha-ha! Suck on that, Stan! Together Kyle and I are K1 and K2, and we shall rule the world together!"**

"Ke- K1! ...this is so impossibly faggy..."

**"What were we talking about? OH! Right!"**

"Arghhh! Not me asshole! _Stan_!"

_"Ha-ha! Wait! Kenny you fucking asshole of a traitor! Ugh! You feel heavier than Cartman!"_

"Why am I the bottom bitch here..?"

**"Because, if you're on top you're most likely to escape."**

_"...Kenny..."_

**"Yes Stan?"**

_"Why are you taking your pants off...?"_

"_What_?!"

**"Don't question my actions, just go with them."**

_"Kyle, he's scaring me..."_

"Ugh! Stan! Latching yourself onto me won't protect you from him!"

**"Actually, when he's like that I can't undo his zipper."**

"If it weren't so gay I'd ask you to hold my crotch so Kenny couldn't take my pants off. But it is. So I won't. HOLY SHIT STAN, I WASN'T BEING SERIOUS!"

_"Just trying to help you out, Ky."_

"...Please take your hand away from that location."

_"But Kenny."_

**"But Kenny wasn't even thinking of taking K2's pants off. Until now."**

"NO! NO! NO! NO! CAN YOU BOTH GET YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM THERE! Aaaand my pants are off. Stan, you felt me up for no valid reason since my pants are missing."

_"Sorry..."_

"Ahh, there they are. On the other side of the room. I'm now at the point where I have to rethink my entire life. Who's the bigger pervert? My bestest friend in the entire world? Or the biggest pervert in the entire world? Sorry Ken, you've been outperved. JESUS CHRIST! WHAT THE FUCK!"

**"Sorry Kyle, I couldn't have my title given away so easily."**

_"I'm sorry for failing you, Kylie-Wylie."_

"Aaaaand that just puts the icing on the gay. So, what the hell; it's OK my little Marshmellow."

_"...get fucked..."_

"Apparently I'm going to."

**"Aww, come on Kyle. You're making this out to be worse than it actually is!"**

_"I dunno dude, this is pretty gay."_

"'Pretty gay'?! Dude, this was 'pretty gay' back when we were still wearing pants!"

_"...I'm still wearing pants..."_

**"YOINK!"**

_"Yeah, you're right. This is extremely gay. ...Nope, just got gayer."_

**"Stan, your legs feel really soft~"**

_"Help me Kyle..."_

**"I wonder what your chest feels like..."**

_"Kyle... Help..."_

"Help? Alright. Hey Ken, Stan's getting pretty aroused with you touching his leg like that, you'd best move bases quickly."

_"What?! No! No!"_

**"I always knew you were playing hard to get, Stanley! Now quick spooning the midget, and let me help you~"**

_"It's not spooning, it's called protecting myself!"_

**"I don't know, your behind is lacking security."**

"Don't even bother asking, Stan. No."

_"I protected _your _assets."_

"One; I NEVER ASKED YOU TO TOUCH MY GOD DAMN DICK. Two; you did a terrible job. Real disappointed."

**"He didn't touch your dick, K2. Just your pants."**

"WHATEVER. I was violated nonetheless."

**"Does it make you feel better if I forcefully detach Marshmellow?"**

"Yes."

**"Good. Now. Quick, take your jacket and shirt off whilst I'm holding him back!"**

"What the fuck! NO!"

_"Kenny! I have a proposition for you!"_

**"Mmmmyesss?"**

_"Ugh, please don't speak like that ever again, _but_, if you release me, and let me keep the rest of my own clothes on, I'll strip Kyle so he's only in his underwear."_

"WHAT."

**"Mmmmm... Okies, it's a done deal, Marsh!"**

"This won't be as simple as you think."

_"I'm your best friend, Kyle; I know your tickle spot."_

"Pfft. No you D- HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP, STOP! HAHAHAHAHAHA - I'M SO HAHAHAHA - GOING TO - HAHAHAHAHA - KICK YOUR ARHAHAHAHAHA! Dude you're a fucking traitor!"

_"Sorry, survival of the-"_

**"YOINK!"**

_"Ahh fuck."_

"Great plan, Marshmellow. You made the perverts job so much easier. Three guys, in nothing but underwear, entangled on the floor of a hotel room... I've never felt gayer."

_"You were right last night dude, you predicted that this would happen."_

"How much fun are you having, Stanley now that - AHH! KENNY!"

**"Yesssss?"**

"Don't touch me there!"

_"Yeah, he prefers me to do it."_

"No I fucking don't, knob jockey! Move your damn hand, Ken!"

**"How about here?"**

_"Jesus Christ! That _wasn't_ Kyle!"_

**"Sorry, that was a **_**total**_** accident.. Regards, Marsh, regards."**

"Son of a bitch!"

**"Quit squirming, midget!"**

"WHAT THE FUCK IS IT WITH YOU GUYS AND MY CROTCH TODAY?! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY NO ZONE!"

**"Wow. I understand where you're coming from, K2, but it's practically impossible to get to Stan when he's hugging you like that."**

_"Dude, hugging would be so gay considering the circumstances. It's _protection_."_

"..protection my ass..."

**"Yep! That is **_**exactly**_** what I want, K2! I want your sweet ass right here right now, too bad Stan's hogging it."**

_"Fuck you. He's _my_ Super Best Friend, and therefore is _my_ property."_

"LEAVE MY ASS OUT OF THIS!"

_**"...what the fuck are you three fags doing?!"**_


	4. The Losing Edge

**I will end up coming back to this chapter to add more scenes, and just lengthen it all. It was meant to be longer, but I just got so sick of being stuck here. It's depressing. :c**  
**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

"There's no better way to start the day then with coffee." Stan sighs in content, his hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee. We're in our designated room in the building where we have an hour to relax and get changed before the host runs us through the rules.

I stare at him incredulously. "We started the day an hour ago, and you don't even like coffee."

He glares a little, placing the cup on a table and wrapping his arm around my waist and staring off into the distance out of the single window. "Have you ever looked outside and thought to yourself 'Fuck. Stan Marsh is so fucking awesome and maybe I shouldn't question his statements and motivations.'?"

Kenny stands to my other side, putting his hand on the other side of my waist. "Personally, whenever I stare out the window I think to myself 'Fuck. Stan Marsh is the sexiest mother fucker, and I wish he wouldn't question my motivations when I clearly want to make sweet, sweet love to him all night long." I stare at him, unsure whether to be disgusted or annoyed. This is getting pretty hard not to sock the blonde in the damn face.

"Just when I thought you three couldn't get any more faggy." Cartman scoffs, scrunching up his button nose. "No, no. I think yesterday was slightly worse."

I nod slowly, agreeing with a light wince. "Maybe that wasn't one of our best planned random spurs of being total idiots together." I had a massive bruise on my stomach, from when Kenny decided that I was going to be bottom of the dogpile, even though I'm clearly the slimmest and, admittedly, _slightly _weaker than them two when I'm not pissed off.

"Yeah, maybe." Stan agrees, wincing a bit. "I was already sore before that and it didn't help the pain. At all."

Kenny breaks away from me, glaring at the black haired teen, "You weren't complaining about the pain when it all went down, _Stanley_." I bite my tongue as Kenny smiles teasingly. "Although I have noticed that your limp, from being such a fragile little weakling, had worsened."

"Shut up Kenny! This is exactly why no one likes you!"

The blonde looks extremely offended at Stan's statement. "What?! People like me! _You_ like me, right Kyle?" He grabs my shoulders and shakes my body violently. "Right?!"

Large, chunky hands wrap around my arm, dragging me away. I find my body sinking into soft, cushiony fat. _Cartman_?! "Fag, leave Jew boy alone! You've already traumatized him enough with your gayness." He strokes my hair, twirling each light curl in his fingers, and rubbing my arm lightly. "Let's get you into the shower, and I can help wash off the gayness. Actually, no. You seem tense, maybe an old fashioned would help you relax."

"What?" I finally get over the initial shock of Cartman touching me, and break away from him.

"No? How about a gobby then, Kahl? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"Alright, I guess I _could_ give you a bit of both. That's what friends are for, right?" He makes a movement towards me, and I immediately back away.

"We're not friends Cartman; I hate you. If you so much as touch me I swear to God I will kick you where it hurts." I glower at him suspiciously. "I don't care what it is you want from me, I'm _not _helping."

"But Kahl-" He puts a protesting hand on my shoulder and I immediately kick him where it hurts; just like I warned. He falls to the ground grabbing his crotch and groaning in pain. His pain won't last long, since his fat would have acted as a barrier against ninety percent of the force I used.

The door to our room bursts open, revealing the co-host (Mike... Rotch?) who wears a beaming smile. "You guys must be Moop!" His eyes rake the four of us up and down calculatingly, and his smile dims a bit. "There is ten minutes left until you're due in the main room, boys. Why is only one of you completely dressed in the complete attire?"

"Because not everyone can be as organized as the Jew." Kenny shrugs, deciding that now's the perfect time for him to strip from his pants and shirt so he's wearing nothing but his underwear. "We'll be ready by then, buddy! Don't you worry!" The blonde slips his feet into the long, camo pants, and pulls them up.

Stan sighs, tugging off his shirt, replacing it with the fitted black shirt. Yeah, Just as I thought; he definitely doesn't have the kind of boobs Kenny claims to lust over. All Cartman has to do was put on his black combat boots and the belt fitted with necessary useful items.

"Which one of you boys are Kenneth, by the way?" Mike looks at the boy who raises his hand, and frowns in disappointment. "And you're captain of Moop? Well, I can't exactly question this poor decision..."

"Poor, alright..." Cartman mumbles under his breath, although no one pays him any mind.

Kenny scowls, pointing an accusing finger in the co-host's direction. "Look buddy, you're treading on dangerous grounds right now. I am a fucking beast. And I will continue being a fucking beast all the way until the end of this game. So give it your best shot, asshole." Finally he grins, pulling on his shoes and belt. "I mean it. Give it your best shot; we're from South Park and we know how to handle the most fucked up shit."

"Ken!" I finally scold with an unimpressed frown, we really don't need to have the co-host against us so soon, "Manners," I turn back to the man in the suit. "I apologize, Mister..." I say as sincerely as I can, "McCormick didn't have his usual dosage of female, so he's just a tad bit pent up. But, it looks like we're all ready so... Shall we go?"

Cartman drags himself behind us, grumbling profanities under his breath, until he finally speaks his mind, "There had better not be any stupid hippy chick hya! I've had it with women and their crap, like who the fuck cares. All woman are good for is making babies! And living in the damn kitchen! 'Come on, bitch! Did I say you could leave the kitchen?! Get back in there, and make me some chicken pot pah!' And, you guys, I'm so seriously, you guys. Any guys here in a team with chicks is obviously a fag." Last year Stan had hit Cartman upside the head, and since then he'd spout out his usual offensive crap, even without being instigated.

"Heyya fellas!" I look up to see Butters, sitting with three pretty girls, waving to us shyly. "I didn't know that you guys, were uh, coming here too!"

"I told you guys; obviously a fag." Cartman smirks, clearly proud that his previous statement has apparently been proven true.

The three of us roll our eyes, but Butters looks a little confused. "Kenny somehow managed to get us entered into this competition." Stan explains with a shrug. "What about you? This isn't exactly something that your parents would normally allow, is it?"

"Uhh..." The blond blushes, looking incredibly guilty as he fidgets nervously. "Th-they don't... They don't know about this. I don't want to be grounded..."

A shortish girl, slightly taller than Butters, rubs his back soothingly. "You're doing a good thing just by being here, hun." She tells him so quietly I can only just hear the words. "They're not going to ground you, because you're camping with me and my family, remember? If they give you a hard time just come see me, K?"

"Gee, thanks Emily." The small boy smiles weakly and thankfully. "You're real nice."

"And you're real gay." Cartman groans, and the girl glares at him hatefully. "Too... Much... Gayness. System... Overload- eghh" The fatass grabs at his throat as though suffocating, and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

If only he really is suffocating to death.

Ignoring him, I turn back to Butters in his Hello Kitty attire. Well that's... cute. I guess... His aqua coloured eyes are slightly glazed over, and his hands fiddle with each other still worried. His blond hair looking a little frazzled, parted by the pink Hello Kitty head band. "You'll be fine," I smile reassuringly, trying to help the girl calm him down. "And even if you do get grounded, you still have have gained from coming here. We'll make sure to help you not get grounded."

"R-really?!" His eyes light up cheerfully, and the girl, Emily, sighs thankfully.

"Alright maggots!" A thick Texan accent interrupts all conversation, and we turn around to see a tall, thin man with a narrow face and bushy beard glaring at us all. His graying black hair is pulled into a pony tail and his beady eyes are narrowed.

He looks like a fucking spokesman for white-van men who pick up young children. "I am Ben Dover, and I welcome Y'all to the _Help! The Hill-Billy Kidnapped Me And My Friends And Left Us In An Unknown Location Where We Had To Fend Off Everything That Lurked Trying To Kill Us! Unknown To My Friends And I, We Were Actually Competing Against Other People And Their Friends In A Race Against The Odds, Where Whoever Came Out First Won Prize Money, Whilst The Others Were Brutally Murdered By The Hill-Billy Who Actually Turned Out To Be A Serial Killer. BUT, Since This Is Only A Game The Hill-Billy Host Must Hide His Killer Instincts And Just Give Out Money And Their Lives Instead_ show! Or, if that's too much of a mouthful, just the _H-T-H-B-K-M-A-M-F-A-L-U-I-A-U-L-W-W-H-T-F-O-E-T-L- T-T-K-U-U-T-M-F-A-I-W-W-A-C-A-O-P-A-T-F-I-A-R-A-T- O-W-W-C-O-F-W-P-M-W-T-O-W-B-M-B-T-H-B-W-A-T-O-T-B- A-S-K-B-S-T-I-O-A-G-T-H-B-H-M-H-H-K-I-A-J-G-O-M-A- T-L-I_ show!" Ben takes a deep wheeze of a breath.

"Now, because we have a lack of funds, we don't have any cameras to actually air this show. First place wins a grand total of 20'000 American dollars, second place 10'000, and third just 5'000. I trust that y'all have read and memorized the instructions, legal query and manual. Since it has obviously been read, we do not have to go through the rules. HOWEVER, once you and your other three members reach the golden plaque entitled 'hasta que la muerte noz sepre, pero ya que estmos con vida, este signo es innecesrio', you are required to split up into groups of two, one group will be going through an underground tunnel, and the other two will continue onward gathering required items from a checklist whilst they battle certain odds and such. For those going down, I hope you remember what the red statue stands for. I will hand you over to the Co-Host who just so happens to be a very close friend of mine... Mike Ock."

Kenny snickers loudly as Cartman bursts into a fit of laughter, whereas Stan and I bite our tongues. The co-host shoots a glare at the two chuckling bastards and clears his throat. "Alright ladies and gentlemen, you will be lead to the platform where you'll be teleported to your designated playing fields, Moop," His eyes narrow a little at the four of us. "You're up first. Play your best boys."

The platform we stand on doesn't feel very secure, which is probably thanks to Cartman's weight. It seems to shake uneasily, leaving us thinner three a little off-balance. A cool mist wraps around us tightly, but it doesn't make any of us choke for some reason, although I do feel suddenly sleepy.

...

...

...

_"Hey, um... Kyle?" It had been half an hour since we had been seated across from each other in complete silence, and I was glad that he was the first to speak._

_"Y-yeah?" My reply was as uncertain and shaky as his._

_"Why did we..?" He couldn't find the right words to say, not in the tense atmosphere we had created for ourselves, and fumbled nervously with his hands, a trait that generally only Butters would have. "Why, um, why did we do it?"_

_Trying not to mimic his hand gestures, I tugged on the ears of my ushanka and swallowed nervously, "Uh..." How could I answer that, though? Why _did_ we do it? I could have blamed Cartman for it, since he was the one who started everything that happened, but we were thirteen and were well used to his antics to try and ruin our friendship, so why did we act the way we did? Why did we follow through and get ourselves into this mess? "I..." I couldn't find an answer. Not one that made sense. "I guess we, uh, I guess we needed to."_

_After a long pause he slid his beanie from his head so that he could scrunch it up in his hands in a way to ease the nerves that were eating at him. Neither of us glanced in the other's direction, embarrassed if anything. "I, um, I don't hate you though."_

_It had been a while since we had spoken; the last time being when I was in hospital, right before he left town. Talking was awkward between us, and I was surprised when he had knocked on my outside bedroom window and slid his body into my room like he used to. I guess I didn't want him to be the only one trying to fix our friendship. "It doesn't matter if you don't hate me, though... _I_ don't hate you either, but it doesn't mean that this wasn't necessary."_

_"I don't understand, Ky... Does this mean-"_

_"_No!_" I cut of sternly before he could even finish that dreadful question. "No..."_

_"Then, what?" His brows were furrowed in confusion, he didn't understand. Hell, _I_ didn't completely understand either, and I was the one explaining it._

_"I didn't mean what I said..." I decided to confess instead, and I feel his eyes turn to me anxiously. "When I said that I hated you and wished we had never met. I didn't mean it. I don't even know why I said it. I guess I didn't want you to know how weak I would be without you, how weak I felt without you. We've done practically everything together, but the simplicity of the matter is that without me, you're still great. But, me without you... I'm worthless. I try and try to better myself so that I won't be left behind, but... You don't need me anymore. And, I wanted to try and prove that I didn't need you anymore either." I sighed sadly, deflated. "Where did that get me...?"_

_"You're an idiot dude." His voice sounded different than it did just a few minutes ago. It was his normal voice, the one he used when we hung out, just the two of us. "Do you really think that I can up and go from my best friend and be perfectly normal? Dude! Ky! I'm dead without you. I swear to fucking God I can't even tie my own shoe laces without you there!"_

_And it was just like that we made up, brushing everything that ever happened under the carpet, choosing to completely ignore the harsh things we said and did to the other. We were useless without the other, so we stayed together. But, even though everything was forgiven, I'm still ashamed of it all._

_I don't know what I'd do if the same thing happened again. _

_Maybe we shouldn't have ignored it like we did._

_We should have pulled out all of the knots._

_But we didn't._

_Why did we end the discussion so abruptly?_

_Now, it's too late to bring it up. _

_I'm scared that it'll start another fight._

_God._

_Fucking._

_Dammit._

...

...

...

"How the fuck did we get here from putting pigs in dresses and bunnies in baskets?" The blonde wonders aloud, leaning forward slightly to peer into the dark oblivion below.

"It's a simulation," I explain, doing my best not to move in fear of disrupting the balance the giant see-saw is already keeping, "If we complete a level completely, what we see around us can shift into a new surrounding, making it seem as if we've been teleported."

Kenny rolls his eyes, unimpressed, "Go be smart elsewhere, Broflovski."

"I think it's pretty cool," Stan offers helpfully, "But, how do we figure out what to do here?"

I look around us, trying to move as little as possible when I notice something by my feet, "Alright, I think I know what we have to do. On one of the beams to our side there will be an object that will fit into this hole here, we need to get it. _But_, we need to keep the beams as level as possible."

Cartman raises his hand, "I nominate the Jew and I doing this, since we're obviously the smallest here."

Silence.

"Well, alright. Thanks for nominating yourself to be part of this, Cartman," I clasp my hands together, "You'll go down that beam, while Stan and Kenny will go down the other beam. It seems to be the best way to level out the weight. Uh, you two will need to..." I try not to wince at what I'm trying to say, "You'll need to make sure there's not much room between you pair as you walk this."

They nod, and Kenny has this evil glint in his eyes I'm not sure I like.

-.-.-.-

Cartman scowls holding onto the two iron bars to his left and right, "Why do _I_ have to do this?!" He complains, clenching his teeth and glaring straight ahead.

"Because you're the fattest." Kenny explains, irritated.

"N-no!" I quickly put in before the fatty can throw in his towel, and refuse to do this completely, "Because you're _beefier_ than the three of us combined, dude. We're too frail to be able to do this section, no where _near_ as strong _or_ as cool as the one and only Eric Cartman!" I pretend to swoon. Stan snorts.

He seems to contemplate this for a few moments, before accepting this fact with a smug smile, "I am pretty kewl aren't I? You're alright for a Jew, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Kenny huffs, pushing Cartman down the track.

The three of us watch as he rolls down the steep hill on those wobbly rollerblades he had to put on. Things are thrown at him. A Mecha-Streisand is chasing him. He races down the track, strangely enough gaining speed as he moved his fat legs faster.

As he goes over the part of the course that travels over water, the track breaks and he falls into the pond, shrieking like a little bitch.

I smile.

Brilliant.

-.-.-.-

I rub my head ruefully grimacing to find blood. The other three look at me expectantly. "What?" I huff, choosing to be nonchalant about what had just happened, "You never seen a Jew throw a boomerang so far?"

"Nup, nup," Cartman ponders, rubbing one of his many chins. "Don't remember seeing a Jew K.O. himself quite so good, I mean Hitler did a fine job and all, but if the Jews had their own mass suicide? Man that would make my job easier. Do it again Kahl!"

I stare at him blankly. Maybe, when we get back home, I could practice using a boomerang till I had the technique right and could catch it correctly, then I could create my own one. Except it would be made of steel and have razor sharp jagged edges. Then, I could throw it in Cartman's direction and have it slice his head off before returning to my hand. But then again it might just get stuck in his fat... But it would still be in deep enough to cause fatality. I smile. "Totally worth it."

"Uh, Ky?" Stan looks at me oddly. "You've been spaced out for a while, what's totally worth what?"

"Oh! Training to use a specially modified boomerang to decapitate Cartman. Even if I go to jail on the account of murder, it would still be worth it." I close an eye and stick my tongue out a bit in concentration. "FIRE!" The wooden device thwonks him on the forehead before dropping straight down from the force. "HAZAAH!"

"Ouch! Cut it out you fucking Jew! You're not fucking Australian!" He rubs his head wincing, and I'm surprised he hasn't tried beating me up for it, "Ouch, there's fucking blood! If you weren't bleeding, already I would so hurt you right now."

OK...

Kenny rolls his eyes, "Well, since Kyle seems to be the only one who can, um, 'successfully' throw a boomerang, this next one is his." Cartman willingly passes me the wooden instrument, and the rest of us send him an odd look.

"Well, anyway. Where am I aiming, captain?" I beam, and Kenny steps out from in front of me, pointing up to a high up statue of Donkey Kong. Ready... Aim... FIRE!

"OW!" Kenny yelps, holding his forehead in pain, "What the fuck was that for?!"

_Ding!_

I notice the bridge ahead is being lowered, "Um, rebound points?" I catch the returning boomerang easily in my hand, without K. myself this time. "I didn't think I could make it without using your large, egotistic head as rebound."

"Alright, um, let's just take the weapon away from you," Stan says slowly, removing said weapon from my grasp, and tossing it aside, "Let's just continue on with the game, seeing as this puzzle, no matter how brutally done, has been completed."

"Hold on a sec," Cartman interjects, stopping us from continuing onward, "Why isn't the hippie bleeding?!"

"Period?"

-.-.-.-

Kenny is still pissed that I had thrown the boomerang at him, but in my eyes it was justice. So even though three out of four of us are bleeding and probably suffering from a concussion, we treck onward merrily.

Well, at least _I_ treck on merrily. Kenny is sulking. Cartman's pants are still soaking wet, making it look like he pissed himself moments earlier. And Stan was, well, he seems to be a little reserved, lost in his thoughts.

"Some-times," I begin, rolling my eyes as I grin in my upbeat mood, "in our lives, we all have pain, we all have sorrow. But -if we are wise, we know that there's always tomorrow."

"Lean on me!" Stan joins in with me, as we sing in complete sync, raising our voices growing annoying loud, "When you're not strong! And I'll be your friend! I'll help you carry on! For, it won't be long! Ti'll I'm gonna need! Somebody to lean on!"

Kenny finally smiles, and bursts into song with Stan and I, each of us earning a death glare from Cartman, "Please, swallow your pride! If I have things! You need to borrow! For, no one can fill! Those of your needs! That you don't let show!"

Again as the chorus comes through, we 'sing' at the top of our lungs, "Lean on me! When you're not strong! And I'll be your friend! I'll help you carry on! For, it won't be long! Ti'll I'm gonna need! Somebody to lean on!"

It seems that even the fatass is having troubling keeping himself from singing, as every now and again his lips move along to the words, "Just call on me brother! When you need a hand! We all need somebody to lean on! I might just have a problem! That you'd understand! We all need somebody to lean on!"

"Lean on me!" Finally the four of us are all 'singing' in 'perfect harmony', "When you're not strong! And I'll be your friend! I'll help you carry on! For, said it won't long! Till I'm gonna need! Somebody to lean on!"

Kenny stops suddenly. "Well fuck, it's the plaque, and sure enough it reads 'vasta que la muerte nos separe, pero ya que estamos con vida, este signo es innecesario'... What the fuck does that even mean?"

"Till death do us part, but since we're alive, this sign is unnecessary." Cartman explains, "Of course you retards would know that if any of youse had even the basic knowledge of Spanish." As usual, the brunette is completely ignored.

"Don't think that that sing along you instigated back there has made us on good terms," Kenny tells me in a mock warning tone, letting me know that all has been forgiven. Asshole thinks he can forgive me so easily. HA! "Now go, Kylee Bear!" He smacks me on my tush, "Be with your mate, Stanley Bear! Breed me lots of little nieces and nephews, little Stylee Cubs!"

"You're so impossibly gay, Kenny." Cartman huffs, and for once I have to agree with him.

The silence is unbearable, not a feeling that should be felt between two best friends. Stan is still lost in his thoughts and silent, despite the earlier musical number, and I'm trying to keep my thoughts _away_ from his relationship with Kenny! I mean, shouldn't he be pissed that his boyfriend is drooling over some other person? I decide to discreetly test Stan's emotions towards this subject. "Kenny's really pissed off at me, isn't he?"

"Huh?" The raven haired teen looks at me, surprised that the silence had been broken, before smiling a little, "About the whole boomerang thing? Nah, it was pretty funny, he just wasn't expecting it. He deserved it, what with yesterday and all." Stan thought Kenny deserved getting hit in the head? He must be having pretty bitter emotions towards the blonde for having his eyes on others.

"Oh, yeah, I know. I meant the whole Bebe thing," I say, walking a little closer to him, slightly dragging my feet along the loose dirt and trying to look innocent, "he should've known better than to think that Bebe would actually send him a picture of herself naked. Her mother may have been a dumb whore when she was younger, but Bebe's desperate to go against that part of her nature, although sometimes she falls through."

Stan frowns, obviously unhappy with the constant talk of Bebe Stevens, his eyes darting along the images on the walls of the cave-like passage. This feels a lot like the time Craig was with us in Peru... "I don't know Kyle." He finally says. OK, here comes the excuse with why he's trying not to be pissed at his boyfriend; "Kenny worked his ass off trying to get Bebe to give into his seductions." Wow, a lame reason Stan. He grins. "He even sang to her, you know? He took her out to Stark Pond at night, and had a picnic with her by the fire and sang One Direction's _What Makes You Beautiful_."

My jaw drops a bit in surprise, but we continue trecking onward in silence until finally I smirk. "We can totally give him a heap of shit for this, Stan. I think hours of torture and suffering is required before Kenny can finally move on with his life." My friend snorts, smirking himself. Yeah he's totally into making Kenneth suffer. "Stan, did you hear that?"

His brows are furrowed and we're both paused in motion. There's no denying it; he heard it too. The walls begin to shake violently, and rocks begin to tumble and fall from the ceiling. As a rock falls in from of us, we both jump back and my brows shoot up in shock and then understanding; this must be our first puzzle down here, but what exactly are we trying to solve? "OW! FUCK!"

I rub my arm where an arrowhead shaped stone cut as it whizzed past. Stan looks behind us, wide eyed, "Come on Kyle, run!" He grabs my wrist and drags me into a sprint, "I think we have to avoid _dying_, dude!"

"What?!" I make the mistake of looking back and I yelp in horror, running faster to keep pace with my friend. He was right, they don't exactly look like they're _not_ out to harm us, despite what the _H-T-H-B-K-M-A-M-F-A-L-U-I-A-U-L-W-W-H-T-F-O-E-T-L- T-T-K-U-U-T-M-F-A-I-W-W-A-C-A-O-P-A-T-F-I-A-R-A-T- O-W-W-C-O-F-W-P-M-W-T-O-W-B-M-B-T-H-B-W-A-T-O-T-B- A-S-K-B-S-T-I-O-A-G-T-H-B-H-M-H-H-K-I-A-J-G-O-M-A- T-L-I_ show guide said!

The hundred or so dwarfs with razor sharp teeth chase after us, spears in hand as they froth at the mouth, snarling some indistinguishable war cries. And still, the rocks fall and the ground shakes; Stan gripping me is the only reason that I'm still upright. There it is again! That noise, the raven-haired boy obviously hears it too, even over the rumbling, as his sharpened senses kick in and he falls behind me a bit.

Suddenly he pulls me into his chest, and allows himself to fall/skid along the ground just a razor sharp arrows burst from the walls, nearly killing us. Because of his quick thinking, we're both safe from the arrows and still moving from the dwarf army trying to kill us. Breathing heavily, he pulls us both to our feet, and keeps hold of my wrist as we break into a sprint again. "Come on!"

"THIS WAS NOT IN THE MANUAL!" I shout, horrified as we continue to run for our lives. "THIS WAS NOT IN THE MOTHER FUCKING MANUAL!"

The passage just keeps going and going, every now and again we'd hear that strange noise that would set off more cliched boobytraps that nearly kill us, and, covered in various cuts and bruises, our energy is running low. We're unwillingly slowing down, but our attackers, thankfully, are a fair bit behind.

"Stan!" I pant, seeing a red stone shaped like a goat, stumbling a bit over my feet. "I- there's a cliff up ahead! We'll need to, uhh, to, uhh, jump down! Water! Yeah..."

"I trust you!" He replies, tightening his grip on my wrist as we run faster, with newfound hope. I can hear the water now, and can see the end of the road where the cliff is. Closer and closer, and Stan falters a little in his step just ten meters away from the edge. "Jump? He asks.

"Jump!" I confirm, as we both take the leap of faith to plummet to what hopefully isn't our death. Our feet break the water first, and we plunge into the depths of the thankfully calm but disgusting dirty waters. When I come back up above the surface, coughing and spluttering the dirty brown liquid from my throat, there's no sign of anyone else. "Stan?" I call out, panicked, "Stan?!"

Something touches my legs, and I feel my body being lifted, I scream in shock. "Hey buddy!" Stan grins, tilting his head back to look up at me. "Comfy Kyle?" I grumble in my position on his shoulders, and he slowly swims us up to the dirt 'shore', where I jump down and we collapse side by side, finally safe. "Mother fucker. What the hell has Kenny gotten us into?"

I laugh breathlessly. "'Come with me on this little adventure,' he said. 'It'll be fun' he said."

Stan looks at me, grinning in exhaustion. "What was it that _you_ said? Everything is simulated, and as far as I'm aware, that means that there shouldn't have been so many things trying to kill us with things that felt fucking real!"

"Fucking manual."

"How'd you know about the water going to break our fall?"

"Fucking manual." I repeat, thankful that it had at least been right about that. "How'd you know about the arrows going to come out from the walls? At the very start of this mess, I mean."

"Well, I didn't. It was kind of the cliched thing to do; we would've been fucked if the floor gave out instead." He laughs, breathless.

"Thanks Stan." I reach over and grab his hand, squeezing it tightly in mine. If Stan hadn't have been there I would've died more times than... than... Who the hell dies so damn frequently? Oh to hell with it. Stan saved my ass, and I owe him majorly. He squeezes my hand back, just as tight, and I laugh. "You suppose Al Gore rigged this whole damn thing in an attempt to kill Manbearpig's descendants?"

"You're _my _Manbearpig." He whispers jokingly. "I'm super serial."

"Super serial."

The ceiling isn't very exciting to look at, it's so bland and... rocky. The entire cave is lit up like it would be in the light of day, thanks to the simulation, which admittedly tried to kill us. So, instead I turn my head to my best friend, and grin as he stares right back at me, smiling broadly. His beanie has half fallen off of his head, and his black hair is completely drenched, sticking to his forehead. His hand is warm in my grasp.

I rarely have time to notice just how bright his eyes are, or the how golden the edges of his iris' are tinted, so I take the current time to admire them. His chest rises and falls with each breath, his black shirt hugging his torso from the dampness. "How long till Valentine's Day, or any other crappy romantic holiday?" I ask, with a slight smirk. "I'm going to finally confess my undying love for you, and give you a bouquet of flowers with seventeen royal bluebells slipped in there. One for each year I've known you and your beautiful eyes."

Instead of fighting back, like usual, his grin grows wider. "Father's day is getting pretty close, wait until then; _I'm your daddy_."

"I think I will." We both laugh, and fall into a comfortable silence, smiling at each other as though we weren't in the middle of some game. "I love you Stan, you're the greatest Super Best Friend I could ever ask for."

He looks around the clearing, before his eyes return to mine, a brow raised. "This isn't exactly the scene I imagined when you finally gave yourself to me wholly. Maybe we should wait until we're back at the hotel before we have sex?"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" I finally sit up, releasing the grip I had on his hand and stretch my arms. "Dude. Are you seriously hurt anywhere? We should probably move on when we can." I look out to the water frowning. What happened to the dwarfs?

Stan sits up too, frowning as he gingerly touches his leg. "I think bruises are the worst of my problems at the moment, well, that and the fact that my legs are killing me. But, I'm holding you to the fact that we're going to have sex when we arrive safely at the hotel. Let's go, my handsome Jew!"

"Wait!" I laugh, punching him in the shoulder halfheartedly. "Are you sure you're OK? You usually act like you're fine until you're about to collapse."

He stands up, pulling me to my feet and looking thoughtful for a moment, before smiling reassuringly, "I'm fine. Scout's honour."

From the little cavelike area Stan and I had found ourselves in, there is a back exit. And it seems to go on and on. and on. and on... and on... for about an hour, with nothing trying to kill us, until we finally, _finally_, find the marked wall we are looking for.

No longer the firm dirt that has been leading us the entire way, it's made from golden covered steel, with metallic red words on it, and under those are large, heavy switches to be pushed in. There are several. The words are obviously written in another language, so we can't actually understand what we're reading.

"Did it ever occur to you that we have a walkie talkie with us?" Stan asks suddenly. How could we be so stupid to forget that? "It looks Spanish, so we should probably get Cartman to translate it."

I shrug, studying the inscriptions.

Plátano means Banana, I know that much; it's important to know your least favourite food in every language so that you don't accidentally stumble across it in travels. God damn I would be pissed if I was looking for apples, but got bananas instead...

Ick.

He detaches the device from his belt, and turns it on, bringing it up to his mouth smoothly. "Stan and Kyle to Fatass and Kenny. Do you copy? Over."

There's a crackling sound before we hear Kenny's voice. "Yeah, this is Kenny. I copy you. Cartman and I have picked up everything necessary, fought some fucking skeleton's with bow and arrows, tall black things which throw blocks of dirt at us and even these green four-legged things that explode, and have been at the designated location for twenty minutes, waiting for you guys. Just curious to know how the gay butt sex was down below? Over."

Stan rolls his eyes, glancing at me for a few moments before looking away. Kenny really needs to stop with the jokes about me and Stan being gay for each other, if he, himself, is dating one of us. Jeeze. "It's not open for discussion, Ken. Where is the fat fucker, we need him to continue? Over."

There's a long pause before a new, heavy voice, is heard over the two-way. "This is Dragonwind. How may I offer my services? Over." Is he the only one using code-names?

"This is Stan. Kyle and I have found the location, but we need some help with what looks to be Spanish, in order to open the access points." Stan pauses before adding, "Do you copy? Over."

"Yes I copy, fag! What the fuck do they read you illiterate fuck?"

"Cartman, if you're going to be a dick, at least get the communications right!" Once again he pauses before adding the same words that will never stop pissing the fatty off, "Do you copy? Over."

There's a long pause, of irritation, no doubt, before he replies in a low growl. "This is Dragonwind, and I copy you Raven, you motherfucking fag. Try to read the Spanish as best you can without screwing up, you illiterate asshole, and I can translate your best help...over."

"Cartman, there are five inscriptions and I will read each one slowly. ...Plátano cae. Escotilla abierta. Muerte rápida. Huesos de trituración. Matar al niño judío. Did you get all that? Over?"

"Matar al niño judío!" His reply is almost instant. "The last one!"

"Wait." I stop Stan from pressing the button, immediately suspicious about his enthusiasm, and hold my hand out for the walkie talkie. "Cartman, what the fuck does that mean?"

"'The last one'?" He asks innocently. "It means the last selection. The last one from the list that Stan read."

That proves that something's up with his decision. "Cartman, I am being serious right now, what the fuck does 'matar al niño judío' mean in English?!"

"Huh? What are you talking about you silly Jew!" He starts laughing, "Just select the first two, both of them combined will set off a trigger that will open up the door up here. You're such a joker, Kahl! That's why your my favourite of the group!"

I hand Stan the talkie again, and glance at the first two inscriptions on the wall again, "Just the second one, something about 'Plátino cae' makes me paranoid that bananas are just going to start falling from the ceiling or something..."

"You never told me the reason you hated bananas, you know," He begins innocently, hand hovering over the button.

I glare at him for a few moments, "And _you_ never told me why snakes freak you out, despite the fact that you're this massive tree hugging, animal loving hippie."

"So, it's not open for discussion?" Stan grins broadly, finally pressing down on the large, heavy button.

The ground trembles and the walls quake, rocks falling and rolling around everywhere. From the passage behind us sounds a long war cry. Fuck. The gold and red wall in front slowly begins to open, raising at a painfully slow pace. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Dwarfs, the same hundreds from over an hour earlier, come into view with their spears raised into the air. Fuck! The entrance hasn't even opened enough for Stan and I to fit through.

"Kyle..?" Stan asks uncertainly, clearly having the same thoughts as I.

But I don't have the answers, I don't know what those tiny little warriors despise, I have no clue how to hold them off long enough to be able to make an escape!

Fuck.

Wait a second.

"Water!" I shout out in understanding. The answer seems clear, although possibly coincidental.

When Stan and I jumped off of the cliff, we jumped into water, and our attackers had mysteriously disappeared. And only recently had our clothes and hair dried, leaving us undampened and, possibly, unsafe.

"Are you sure about this Kyle?" I'm asked, our waterbottles now in our hands from our belts, uncapped

"Nope,"

...

...

...

_There was a constant beeping that echoed in the room, and it was this that woke me from my heavy slumber. My head was aching and my throat was dry and scratchy, something was jammed up my nose, and into my arm._

_The light was blindingly bright, burning my eyes that struggled to open, despite the weight that forced them closed. There was that smell in the air, that one that was so sickeningly clean that it made you feel sick._

_I felt lightheaded. Groggy. Where was I? A hospital. Yes, it made sense. But why? What would I be doing in a hospital?_

_Stan was there, standing in the corner with a pale face. He looked sick. Why was he here? I thought we were in the middle of a fight. Weren't we? Didn't he hate me? Shouldn't I be keeping up with the act that I hated him too, instead of allowing the relief to wash over my senses?_

_My nausea was rising as I began to recall memories of how exactly I ended up in this hospital bed. _

_There were blinding lights heading toward me, but I was stuck in the middle of a road, like a deer caught in headlights. The truck was speeding. My body wouldn't respond even though my mind was shouting at me to move, to get the fuck out of the way._

_There was a flash of blonde hair and I was pushed out of the way so I didn't receive the full force of the blow. Kenny... _

Kenny_! _

_He had died... to save me..._

_Oh Kenny._

_I could feel warm tears rolling down my cold cheeks. Kenny was gone, and it's all because of me._

_"Kyle! You're awake!"_

...

...

...

"Well," Kenny looks us up and down, frowning a little, "it looks like you two have seen better days."

Stan and I are out of breath, our legs about to give way. Our bodies are covered in cuts and bruises, our clothes mostly covered in blood, how much of it actually belongs to us, I can't quite say. I point at the blonde, although my arm shakes from the effort, "You... You and fucking... Fucking Mike, fucking... Ock." My lungs burn from the effort of speaking.

Cartman finally notices us, and he looks worried, coming to my side as he touched my arm gently, "Oh my sweet, prescious Jew! Whatever happened to harm you so?"

I'm too exhausted to respond, or even push him away from me. I'm too exhausted to feel nervous about the strange way he's acting.

"Last time, Kenny..." Stan manages to force out, and for a few moments I'm worried he might have an asthma attack. "Last time... that we f-follow you... follow you on some... some fucking ad-adventure."

I numbly pet my pockets, looking for the emergency inhaler I had brought for Stan, despite him saying that it was unnecessary. He wasn't dying on my watch! "Fuck... fuck you..." I pull the small thing from my pocket and hand it out to the dark haired male. He weakly glares at me.

"Wait, what?" Kenny looks at us strangely, and Cartman is rubbing my arm, "What the hell happened down there?!"

"Not enough water," Stan says after a while, his breathing more evened out although it still sounds harsh, without the aid of the inhaler, "We didn't have enough... water."

"Water?" The blonde is confused, "What the fuck do you need water for?"

"Will you cut that out," I manage to spit out, being able to shove the fat hand away from me, "There wasn't enough water to fucking... What the hell are you doing on your knees Cartman...?"

He looks up at me from his position, large honey brown eyes twinkling with some weird emotion, "Trying to make you relax, my little sugarlips." What...? "Now bring your sweet ass a little closer,"

"Fuck off." I boot him away from me, but it's not very effective since I'm still weak from exhaustion.

Kenny is still confused, but he shakes his head allowing the subject to drop. Not like your fucking boyfriend nearly died, or anything. "So... do we continue, or what? It's been ages."

"You guys continue," Stan groans, falling on his butt in the soft grass and I mimic his action, "We'll just stay here for a lil bit longer."

I nod wearily in agreement, "Fuck, I could sleep for a millennium."

"No!" The fatass shouts his protest, "No, we can't leave you behind! Kahl," He forces tears to spill from his eyes, "you're a very important member of our group, without you we'd be Jewless!"

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any gayer, Eric," Kenny mutters lowly, but loud enough to be heard.

Apparently even with his sexuality threatened, Cartman decides to lean down and pick me up bridal style with no comment. OK, seriously, what the fuck is going on?! Kenny rolls his eyes, and takes this as his cue to pick Stan up in the same way.

If not completely terrified, I would force myself to imagine the scene in front of me as cute.


	5. About Last Night

**Do you ever have those random moments where your head isn't functioning properly, and you start saying the weirdest of things to people around you, but you don't even know why? So while your rattling off with what can be pretty shameful stuff you start contemplating ways to kill yourself getting 'what kind of drugs are you on?!' reactions. But even as you mentally plan your death, and most probably everyone else too, your mouth still has a mind of its own, yapping on and on and on. *deep breath* Because holy heck I have those moments all the freaking time.  
****I can't be the only one.  
****South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

Ugh. My head.

What the hell happened?

The light that streams in through the gap between the closed curtains is painfully blinding. It feels like someone is using a special spoon that lights up my eyeball as it's being scooped out from my skull. Fuck.

Why?!

My stomach... Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Blindly, and without much feeling in my bones, I get up and race to what I hope to be the bathroom, toppling over and heaving into what I hope to be the toilet. _Fuck_.

This is disgusting.

Have I been drinking alcohol? My head feels like a ticking bomb, ready to explode. My stomach is jumping around in sickening flops. The acidic taste left burning in my mouth and throat... the signs all point to yes.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?!_

I've only ever gotten drunk once before, and holy fuck I should have learned my lesson from then. I'm an idiot. I deserve all of the displeasures of a hangover, and more.

As I puke again, I find that this time my disgusting bile is covering me, rather than being in, what appears to be, a blurry toilet.

Yuck.

"Come 'ere..." The shower is so far away, and won't come closer to my outstretched hand, "Come 'ere you fuckin' asshole... I SAID COME 'ERE!" Shouting is not a good idea, I realize as I cradle my throbbing head. Ow... Ow... Fuck.

"Kyle?" It sounds like Stan, but it doesn't seem that he's overly hungover. I peek at him for a while, until his blurred face changes into one that I recognize completely. Wow, he's close. And he's... touching... me...

If I weren't covered in vomit I would hug him, "You came back for me!" Oh, what the hell! I'll hug him anyway! I mean, with all the times I've been covered in his vomit, it's only fair, "I was so worried, I thought you had left forever!" I can't control what comes out of my mouth, what the hell am I going on about? Where did Stan go? When the hell was I worrying that he wasn't going to return?"

Stan pets my back awkwardly, "Alright, um... OK... I was just making breakfast for you then I was going to wake you up, but I guess I was a little, uh, late. I'll finish up in the kitchen, but you might want to get changed, or showered, probably both. Hopefully both."

"Come with me," What the fuck? Am I _crying_?! "Don't leave me behind, don't leave me alone again." Why the hell am I bawling worse than Clyde? My head aches, and I'm acting like a little bitch for a reason I don't even know.

"Alright, um," Stan pushes me away gently, a little confused as he pets my hair, "I'm not going anywhere, but I'm not going to take a shower with you dude."

"You look so cute covered in my vomit," Alright, now that is creepy. What next, Mr. Broflovski? Are you going to make out with your best friend, and use your vomit as lube for the obvious oncoming gay sex? Oh fuck...

_Fuck_.!

I vomit all over Stan.

That was not at all a very pleasing mental image. Ew. Ew.

_Ew_.

Stan has a wet washcloth, and he's wiping the bile from my mouth. "You're so pretty Stan, like a princess in her tower," Why isn't he slapping sense into me? _I'd_ slap sense into me if not for the fact that I'd expect it, and the pain that follows wouldn't be worth it.

"Alright Ky, thank you." He peels off my jacket, throwing it to the side, his jacket following suit. I can't believe I just puked on him, but then again this could class as revenge. And revenge is a dish best served from the gut! ...literally... Straight from the gut, all acidic and bitter and everything. Yep. "Are you feeling better?"

"I wish I were as pretty as you, then I could sit up in my tower all day long, waiting for a, um... It'd be cool to sit in a tower." Maybe I should be emitted into the insane asylum.

"And why would it be cool to sit in a tower? I would imagine that it would get pretty lonely." He forces me to stand up, keeping me steady on my feet.

"It'd be, um..." Alright genius mouth, whatcha gonna say this time? "It'd be very romantic. You know, wooing myself all the time with that magical, um, sunset. Or sunrise. Depending on the time of day. And it wouldn't be lonely, because I'd... I'd have a, um... a tortoise named Phyllis."

Stan laughs a little at this, forcing me to lean on him as he turns on the shower taps, "Are you still drunk, Kyle?"

"No way, dude. Nope. Not even a little."

He shrugs, "If you say so."

And just like that, I find myself completely drenched, pushed under the running water. Fuck. Why does this seem familiar?

-.-.-.-

_Singing. _

_Loud, impossibly loud, singing. _

_It seemed to echo in the air, to remain trapped in the room forever, doomed to never ever go away. The most annoying part was when the singer brought his voice up really high, like a knife going straight through my aching head._

_"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!" The voice started at the chorus again, clearly finding it the most amusing part to sing, "WEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! NO TIME FOR LOOOOSERS, BECAUSE WEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! DUN DUN! OF THE WOOOORRLD!"_

_Finally. Bliss. Peace and quiet. That racket had been going on nonstop for about half an hour. Why would it have stopped then though? Why would it have finally given up at that moment? "I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars!" Because it was a song change. Obviously. "On a collision course, I am a satellite I'm out of control! I am a _sex machine _ready to reload! Like an atom bomb about to _oh oh oh oh oh explode_!"_

_And of course... "I'M BURNING THROUGH THE SKY, YEAh! TWO HUNDRED DEGREES THAT'S WHY THEY CALL ME MISTER FAHRENHEIT! I'M TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT! I WANNA MAKE A SUPERSONIC MAN OUT OF YOU!"_

_"For the love of God, Kenny!" I finally managed to break out of my weird state of mind, to throw a pillow in what I hoped was his direction, "Shut up!"_

_There was a huff. Oh no. Oh no._

_"Buddy you're a young man, hard man, shoutin' in the street, gonna take on the world some day! You got blood on yo' face! You big disgrace! Wavin' your banner all over the place!" I could hear the sound of him slapping his thighs twice, and then clapping once to create the wellknown beat for the song. Fuck. "WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU! WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU!"_

_I wasn't quite sure how much more of that I could handle. With my already throbbing head, an incapability to open my eyes or register the fact that the bed was oddly hard, I might have possibly been doomed to listen to that for eternity._

_God fucking damn._

_The silence that stretched out was calming, and even though I knew that it wouldn't last very long, it was difficult not to begin falling back into a peaceful slumber... "Just wanted to let you guys know that It's one in the afternoon," Kenny said dejectedly, and I nearly, _nearly_, felt bad, "And I thought that maybe we could celebrate, you know. Just a little guy time... A couple of pals hanging out, doing what they please..."_

_"Get out Kenny," A third voice muffled out, surprisingly close to my head, and surprisingly sounding like Stan, "We'll wake up on our own accord..."_

_"You guys used to be cool," Kenny whinesd and I burried my face deeper into the warm material that was my bed that night, "You're both impossibly gay, and as revenge for not hanging out with me, I'm going to send this picture to everyone."_

_There was a pause, where not a sound, nor a movement was made, until a click was heard echoing softly in the room. Stan abruptly sat up, causing me to fall onto the floor with a yelp, "What picture?"_

_Kenny grinned, looking a lot like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, tucking his phone into the back of his pocket, "Well, if you _both _come be my wingmen tonight, you will never have to know._

_Actually, the floor was pretty comfortable down there. The wooden flooring, although not soft or warm, had its own advantages, and strangely enough, acted as a pretty good pillow. The cool, smooth flooring felt wonderful against my sore cheek... No more singing, just silence... I could have just... Yawn... I could have... I could..._

_..._

_Something was kicking at my feet, constantly in a surprisingly soothing rhythm, that at first woke me up from surprise, before lulling me into a more invitingly secure sleep._

_..._

_"Kylie booboo?" A low, smooth voice, breath brushing against my cheek. A slow, stroking through my hair. I hummed a little sound of recognition, struggling to keep my mind from waking up completely. The person needed to keep talking. They sounded so soothing, and I was so incredibly tired and so incredibly sore. "Kylie booboo?"_

_..._

_"WAHH!" I yelped, shivering from the sudden wet cold that was gripping me. My body was numb, but my cheeks felt very, very warm, heating up from the surprise I was feeling. I glared up at the two boys in front of me, trying to stop my chattering teeth. "F-fuck you g-guys!"_

_Drenched. Icy cold water. It felt like had just gotten out of Starks Pond after a winter swim. Laughter. They were laughing at me although they tried not to. My clothes clung to my skin, but they were cold. Too cold. _

_I didn't want to sleep anymore._

_I wanted to kill._

_The blonde one was holding the bucket._

_He would be the first to die._

_Standing there all innocent looking._

_Laughing like he had no worries._

_That fucking asshole._

_I lunged at him, taking him by surprise and tackling him to the floor. He was still laughing, acting like this is all some big joke, like it was funny. I can feel his wrists tensing under my grasp, as if he's preparing to break free and turn the tables._

_Not. Today. Mother. Fucker._

_Heh._

_The dark haired male was still laughing too, but backed away a bit, choosing to stay out of that one._

_Good choice._

_I decided to let him live._

_Just for a little while longer._

_The one under me finally went to make his move so that he would have the upper hand, but it didn't work. I just used more force to keep him down, until finally his laughter died down into awkward chuckles. _

_He said something, I don't remember what, eyes shining with an amused uncertainty. He didn't know what to do. I smirked, bringing my face down so we were nose to nose. I could feel his warmth, and it radiated through me, even though I felt icy cold. His breaths are short and shallow. "Kyle?" Was he afraid, or just unsure?_

_"Any last words, asshole?" I asked lowly, mimicking his usual cheshire cat grin, an evil glint in my eyes._

_"Alright," There was something wrapping around my middle, lifting me away from my blonde victim. I hadn't even dealt any real damage! Had I even dealt _any _damage? What a party pooper. "You've had your fun, we apologize for waking you from your nappy time."_

_I huffed, crossing my arms, and lifting my legs so the interrupter had to hold all of my weight. God damn. I hoped he got drenched, soaking _all _the water from my dripping clothes, and had to suffer from a nasty cold._

_"Aw, you weigh a ton fatty!" The person holding me complained._

_"No!" I snapped childishly, deliberately trying to force more of my weight downward._

_The blonde was standing in front of me, smiling teasingly, "Is Kylie booboo having a temper tantrum?"_

_"...No..."_

_"Then it's settled! We're partying tonight! Just the four of us, bumping pelvises with a stranger, or someone close that we know, eh? _Eh_?"_

_I yawned suddenly, rubbing my eyes before pausing, confused, "Kenny? Why the fuck am I drenched? ...and why is Stan holding me like this?"_

_-.-.-.-_

I remember that I had completely forgotten the earlier events, not even waking up soaked in water. Maybe I'm sick, since I've only just managed to take control of what I say.

"Do I smell food?" Comes a deep, heavy voice laced with sleep, followed by a loud yawn, "Why didn't you assholes wake me up?"

Stan turns to fact the large intruder, "Woah dude, what the hell happened to your face?"

"What are you insinuating, hippy?" Comes a grated reply, and I finally turn to look at him. Wow.

"He's insinuating that you look uglier than usual." I roll my eyes, turning back to plate of food that I have been having trouble stomaching, "Who hit you? The Thing?"

"The... The what?! The Thing? What the fuck are you going on about?" His face is growing red with anger, and I'm surprised he can't feel any pain, because the damage done to him looks like it would hurt like a bitch.

He stands there in silence for a few moments, unsure whether he should eat precious food, or check out his precious face. He chooses the latter, and after a few seconds of his disappearance there's an angered cry, "WHO THE FUCK DID THIS?!" He storms out looking pissed, ready to murder. "It was Kinny, wasn't it?! Where is that poor piece of shit?! I'll kill him! I'll kill that fucking asshole!"

"Settle your boat, Cartman," Stan rolls his eyes, leaning back against the counter, "I don't think it was Kenny, besides, he's not even here."

"He's... Not?" I do a double take, frowning. If Kenny isn't here than there's only one other explanation. But he couldn't _really_... Could he? No, no. Maybe he left a while before I got up. Maybe Stan's lying to save his boyfriend's ass.

Said raven haired teen gives me an odd look, "Uh, no... He didn't come back at all last night, and I haven't heard from him since. Why are you shocked to find that he's not here, it'd be more surprising if he _was_."

"Doesn't this _bother_ you?" I practically choke out, horrified that he's not at all fazed that Kenny's gone and fucked some random girl.

Another weird look is sent my way, "No? Kenny will do what Kenny will do... or Kenny will do who Kenny will do. Why are you fussing about this now?"

Cartman, barely interested, begins to steal the food from my plate, not that I care. I feel sick again, although I doubt that I'll be puking any time soon, "If Kenny were _my_ boyfriend I wouldn't just let him go around and do this shit!"

"That's why you and Kenny aren't dating?" Stan laughs nervously, awkwardly.

I brush my wet fringe from my eyes, huffing a little in irritation, not wanting to take my anger out on my friend, my poor, kindhearted friend. "Don't you have any self respect Stanley?!"

"Uh," He looks taken a back, not sure whether to laugh or take this conversation seriously, "apparently not?"

"Ey!" Cartman's heavy voice interrupts whatever I was going to say next, he looks pissed off. Again. "Where the hell are the flowers?"

My irritation magnifies, mixed with disgust, "I was going to throw them out, but decided Butters would appreciate them more, especially with his team coming first the other day."

"But..." He looks crestfallen, and I'm pretty disappointed that he didn't shoot to anger like usual, "I got them for you Kahl."

"And I didn't want such pretty flowers to go to waste. Deal with it you creep."

-.-.-.-

_I remember the four of us standing outside the club in the carpark, talking about... something. It got pretty intense, but in a good way... I think._

_We were waiting for someone. _

_Butters._

_Despite the fact that these kinds of parties weren't exactly the kind of scene you'd typically imagine innocent doe eyed Butters, he agreed to celebrate with us as long as his friends could come too. We agreed. _

_The more the merrier, right?_

_Cartman looked restless, barely able to keep his feet still, as he chewed on his thumb, eyes darting everywhere as though paranoid. It seemed that he was close to having a panic attack. I had hoped he did have one. Oh how I hoped._

_Instead of breaking then and there, for an unknown reason, he excused himself from us, saying that he didn't want to hand around a couple of fags. He even offered me to go with him, so I didn't catch Kenny and Stan's gay. _

_As much as I disliked seeing the pair so close, and although my stomach clenched uneasily just by looking at them, I refused his offer. I'd rather suffer than be anywhere near that fatass, so I watched him turn and head towards the bright, neon lights, away from the darkness that clouded the carpark. _

_The three of us waited for a while, wanting to be there physically when the others would arrive. And they did, car pulling up next to ours. Four people came out. Butters, and the three girls in his team, all dressed pretty differently. Butters, the poor thing, was dressed formally, like he was going to a business meeting, rather than drinking and chatting up strangers with his friends, though I doubted he'd do either. The girl with the curly brown hair down to her waist (holy fuck, who needed hair that long?!) was wearing a skimpy dress which pushed her breasts out so badly, it seemed that they would surely fall out, and I preyed that that _wouldn't _happen. The second girl was wearing a dress that made her look to be seven, her black hair pulled into two childish piggy tails. Maybe she was _trying_ to attract the attention of men in their forties, maybe fifties? _

_The final girl, in skinny jeans, fitted shirt and jacket, was the one who had tried calming down an upset Butters the day before at the games. She's the one who almost immediately came over to me when she got out from her car, cheeks flushed and big, brown eyes which shone brightly, "Thanks," was all she said, before quietening down, with a shy smile, brushing her blonde fringe from her eyes. _

_I almost sent a pleading look to Stan, begging him to help me out, but he was already bombarded with the other two girls, Kenny, surprisingly, distracted with Butters. I would have to soldier on through this alone. "Oh, uh... For what?"_

_She glanced up at me, gee, she was awfully short, a little taken aback, before glancing at her two female friends for two seconds, before turning her attention back to me, "For yesterday. I mean, I don't think Butters would have calmed down quite so much if not for your reassurance." _

_"Oh, _oh_." That was certainly an odd thing to be thankful for, since it was, after all, Butters. He could go from a nervous wreck to hi-ho happy in 0.3 seconds. I nodded awkwardly at the blonde, forcing a smile, "Emily, right?"_

_Fuck. I didn't think someone could get so happy just from having their name remembered. Fuck. It might be best to avoid this girl, but there's no way I can leave her nicely. Kenny was presenting the bouquet to Butters, telling him that it was from our team to his, and Stan looked pretty freaked since the brunette was rubbing up against him arm. I know, I know, I could have easily have used Stan's discomfort as a quick excuse to escape, but he still needed to be punished for not telling me, his _best friend_, that he was gay!_

_Heh. I'm merciless._

_"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't actually catch your name?" She beamed apologetically, and for a few moments I considered giving her a fake one, but decide to go with the truth, "Kyle, huh? It suits you."_

_I began to grow frantic when her hand brushed against my mine. Only one thought circulated my head, _what the fuck do I do?!

_It seemed that Kenny was the only one who didn't look completely uncomfortable. _

_Fucking asshole._

_-.-.-.-_

It's silent for a while, and it's Stan who breaks it with a question directed at Cartman, "Why were you in a rush to leave, anyway?"

"Me?" The brunette nearly laughs, "I don't want to catch your guys' gay. Didn't I make that clear enough?"

"Stop tooting your own horn, Cartman," I frown, grabbing my ushanka from the lounge and pulling it over my head, "Even if you were straight, no girl would want to be anywhere near you."

"What's that supposed to mean, Kahl? Even if I were straight?"

I smile a little, perking up. Finally a bit of animosity. "Should I remind you of the time you put Butters dick in our mouth, put your dick in Butters mouth, gave Ben Affleck a hand job, tried getting me to suck your balls, had-"

His face is red, and eyes dark, "I was, how old Kah, _nine_? _Ten_? It doesn't count!"

I roll my eyes, thoroughly enjoying this, "If you had have let me continue I could have listed all the things up until this very week. But I guess you're an early bloomer then, yes?"

This time he smirks, folding his arms across, what I to be, his chest, "Early bloomer? Where does that put you and Mr Marsh then, _hmm_?"

"Alright," Stan cuts in, and I frown, disappointed at the interruption, "We'll just leave it at that. Maybe we should try finding Kenny, he should be here by now, and he doesn't have his phone on him. Do you guys remember seeing Kenny with anyone?"

Cartman rolls his eyes, growling a little, "Of course the hippie comes in when his _totally_ not gay relationship comes into question." I don't think that we were supposed to hear that...

When Stan glances a me I shake my head no, and he pinches the bridge of his nose in thought, "I remember he was talking to Butters blonde friend, but not too long after, I saw him with Butters."

I wince a little. It'd be pretty bad if Kenny left Stan to be with Butters.

-.-.-.-

_The atmosphere probably shouldn't have been as suffocating as I felt that it was, unable to breathe in the overcrowded club. People were dancing with each other, grinding against one another, and, honestly, it made me feel a little uncomfortable, especially with the added splash of alcohol everyone seemed to be drunk off their mind from. _

_Bodies, bodies, bodies. Just a big sweaty mass moving against each other in a fashion that could be labeled as orderly if you assumed that their dry humping was actually a form of dancing in sync with the booming static that might have been music. _

_I failed to see how one could actually enjoy this kind of scene._

_Or why one would hope to find and fuck some stranger from here; there's no telling what kind of diseases they could be harvesting._

_Fuck._

_I lost Stan about an hour earlier, he was constantly being followed by the two girls from earlier, and Kenny had obviously been keen on 'meeting new people', despite it being morally wrong now that he had a boyfriend. Ugh. Cartman hadn't been spotted since he first left us, and Butters probably weaved through the edges to be somewhere away from the crowd. I should probably have followed his example. But I didn't. _

_Kenny was there, I saw him. I'm certain of it. He had his hood up covering most of his hair, but I could see the blonde of his fringe, despite the bright, flashing lights. He had cornered some girl, hands either side of her head, and that confirmed my suspicions, even though I hadn't seen his signature grin until moments later. Nothing was strange about that scene, until I noticed the young girl's face. It was like she was looking directly at me, almost pleadingly._

_Did I know her?_

_Ah fuck. Better help the poor thing out._

_It wasn't like I had anything better to do anyway._

_Kyle Broflovski. Savior. All knowing. Hero. Jew._

_Yep. I would have liked to have seen someone create a shitty cartoon like that. I'd probably shoot myself if someone did and I was forced to watch it. It would probably turn out worse than the movie Green Lantern._

_It was surprisingly easier than I thought to weave in and out through the mass, and before I knew it, I was standing behind the blonde 'king' himself. Wait... Shouldn't he have been with _Stan_?! Instead he was harassing... Emily? Oh gee wiz. _

_"Ken?" I tapped on his shoulder, but he seemed to not have felt it. Or was playing the 'no one is there' card. "Kenneth McCormick?" I tried again, whispering huskily into his ear with the roll of my eyes as I put my hands into his back pockets, something he tended to do to me whenever I ignored him. _

_"Hey-ho, it's Broflovski!" I heard him cry out with a grin, grabbing my wrists as he turned to face me, placing an arm over his poor victim's shoulders, "What brings you over to our nest?"_

_I shook my hands free, and tried to come up with something that would help the brown eyed girl, a crappy little theme song going off in the back of my head, "Kevin Stoley," I supplied, having formed the perfect excuse that would quickly capture his attention, "He must've heard that we were here tonight, because he's out back looking for you."_

_"That Star Wars loving, bird fucking asshole?!" His kind features shifted into one of anger and annoyance, "I told him I wouldn't hold back next time I was forced to kick his ass back to the fucking sewers where that piece of shit belongs!"_

_I pet his shoulder supportively, "You go show that no good boy who's boss, Ken. Make sure he stays away from your turf and... stuff."_

_He nodded at me solemnly, and left without another word, not even bidding farewell to the girl he attempted to hook up with. Speaking of, she was looking up at me thankfully, cheeks flushed and biting her lip bashfully, "Thanks Kyle, it seems you keep helping me out of little pickles and such. I can't help but feel like the damsel in distress, useless until the hero comes to her rescue,"_

_I flashed a somewhat forced grin, "It's alright, I mean, everyone needs a bit of help every now and again," _

_Kenny slipped out the back entrance._

_-.-.-.-_

Cartman chuckles a little, lazily resting his chin on his knuckles, "I was talking to that girl before Kenny, but I rejected her which is why she used him as rebound."

"Because we all believe you, fatass," Stan rolls his eyes, a little disappointed that we haven't gotten much closer to finding Kenny, "So, Kenny either found Butters outside, or came in and the two came across each other. Great, so we call Butters then?"

"Heh, only a fag would have that pussy's number," Fatass chortles, looking smug for some strange, unknown reason, "Guess we're stuck in the middle of the road, then."

I raise a brow at him, "Why would that mean we're stuck? Didn't you just admit to having his phone number?" He looks pissed, but unfortunately doesn't respond, "But did you seriously just imply that Stan and I aren't fags? Wow, there's a first for everything."

"Marsh is still a fag, Kahl," He seems to say earnestly, "I just didn't want to hurt your feelings since he is, after all, _your_ best friend." Why is it so damn hard to successfully rile the fat bastard up?!

The raven haired male just blinks boredly, turning to me, clearly uninterested in the current conversation of who is and isn't a fag, "Dude, I don't have it. It just didn't really seem necessary to have it, because we don't really have much to do with him..."

"Well then, guess it's up to me then," I sigh, feeling my pockets for the phone I don't have, "Uhm...?" Wait... Wasn't it in my other pair of jeans? That pair that I was wearing in the shower? "Stan-?!"

He rolls his eyes, and stuffs his hand into his back pocket to retrieve the device, holding it out for me to grab, "I wasn't stupid enough to shove you under the shower without checking your pockets, noob. You were pretty out of it, so I doubt you even realized."

I beam at him innocently, hoping he doesn't bring up the fact that he actually did shower with me when I had gained enough sense to be able to hold myself.

(We were wearing clothes, don't get that pervy, suggestive look on your face. Sheesh. Look at you now, imagining Stan with his hands all over me in a suggestive fashion. Cut it out, we were covered in _vomit_ moments earlier. Nothing more arousing than two best friends in the shower together, cleaning the vomit from each other's clothes. That was fucking sarcasm, you sick creep. I mean, I would be able to understand you and your messed up imagination if it had have been Stan's puke. But it wasn't. And we were both dressed, just to stress the fact that we were _not_ naked. GOD DAMMIT YOU FUCKING PERVERTS. Fuck you all.)

"_Hiyya! You've reached Butters!_" Ahh fuck. Voicemail. "_Sorry I can't come to the phone right now, but I'm holy heck busy! ...please don't ground me... Just leave your name, and a short message after the beep, and I'll see if I can't call you back as soon as possible!_"

"He's not answering..." I murmur, stunned, after the third attempt. Butters _always_ answers his phone. He's too afraid of his parents to not answer, since they could call at any second! And by any second, I mean 3am, to make sure he picks up every call they make. Doesn't answer? BAM! A month's grounding.

"Does anyone else remember anything more about last night?" Stan sighs hopelessly. The poor thing must be worried about his missing beau... "And no, Cartman, this isn't a time for you to brag about how all the hot girls you _didn't_ pull."

The brunette huffs, seemingly offended, "I was practically run over with all the girls wanting to be with me. EY! I HEARD THAT YOU STUPID JEW! I mean, that wasn't nice you you to say Kahl... Kyle."

"What...?" Did he seriously say my name _properly_?!

He smirks, an expression not directed at me for once, "At least I wasn't pathetically caught up on a stupid hoe with the name Wendy Testaburger."

-.-.-.-

_"Kyyaaaaaaal~!" _

_Stan was drunk. _

_"Kyyyaaaaaaaaal~!"_

_Stan was a depressed drunk._

_"Ky-Ky!"_

_Stan was absolutely pathetic._

_Draped over me, like he couldn't use his feet. Like he would fall without the added support. Don't get me wrong, he was in no way fat, or even slightly overweight, but he was God damn _heavy_! And added to that, he was taller than me, granted only a few measly inches, but right now he may as well have been three feet taller! _

_Why did he feel it necessary to put all of his weight onto me?_

_"I miss Wendy~! Kyyaaaaal~!"_

_He was totally pining over his ex. _

_Completely understandable. I mean, she was familiar to him, what he knew, and if he missed Kenny, how would he explain that if Wendy was his comfort zone in relationships?_

_"Wendy~!"_

_He needed what was familiar to him. And, apparently, that was her right now._

_Thanks for that kick in the gut Stan._

_"Kyyyaaaal! I need Wendy~!"_

_He was burrowing himself into me at that point, getting quite a few glances from onlookers. _

_"Ky-Ky!"_

_I wanted to punch him. _

_He peeked up at me, with those deep blue eyes, face partially hidden by him arms and dark black hair, "Kyle~?"_

_"Why must you do this to me every damn time you get drunk, Stan?" I sighed._

_"I love you," he slurred with a sloppy grin_

_Emily was still with me, of course, and appeared to be worried, "Is he alright?"_

_If I wasn't used to this, perhaps I too would be worried. But this was a regular occurrence; Stan using me to keep him upright, whimpering pathetically about why he was a terrible person, and how everyone sucked, and, of course, how much he loved me. _

_It truly was a miserable sight._

_"He tends to get like this whenever he's been drinking," I told her, trying to readjust Stan so it would be easier to help him walk, "Just need to take him outside for a bit, so the fresh air can help clear his head." God damn it. Stan wasn't having any of it, and kept latching himself onto me every time I tried to move him._

_"You don't mind if I come, do you?" he asked hesitantly, as if I would know how to deny her politely, "My mother went through this stuff when I was younger, so I might possibly have a trick or two up my sleeve to sober him up quicker,"_

_"Kyyaaaaaaaaaaal~!_

_I nodded, only half listening to what she had to say. I was going to have to do this the hard way anyway. "Quit it, Stan." But even as he squirmed, I managed to hoist him onto my back, nearly collapsing when he kicked his legs with a little sound of complaint, "Let's go you big baby,"_

_People were a little hesitant and irritated, but grudgingly moved aside to let the three of us though to the side entrance, eyes lingering on for no longer than a second, before they returned to their original activities. This would probably be embarrassing if the surrounding people actually cared, or if they were from our hometown, South Park. Guess you've just gotta be thankful for the better things in life. _

_I was going to kill Stan tomorrow._

_Thankfully, I've gotten exceptionally good at blocking out any drunken slurs he drabbles on with, or else I would probably have committed suicide long, long ago, "Wendy understood me, I don't care if she was a bitch," Yep._

_Getting the teen down from my back was a lot harder than picking him up, as I didn't want to drop him roughly on his useless drunk legs, even if it seemed a fitting punishment. He kept his arms around me tightly, like he refused to let go. _

_Every time I managed to lower him an inch, he would hold on tighter, restricting my breaths, "Stan, I know you want Wendy, but killing me won't help at all," I choked out, wincing._

_"Kyyaaaaaaal~!" _

_"Stanley Randall Marsh."_

_At the use of his full name, he slowly but surely loosened up his grip and eventually let go of me almost completely, "S'okay Kyle. I understand if you hate me," Ah fuck. "You go 'n have fun with your missus, the pretty blonde lady. I'll jus' be here, don' let me in'rupt on you guys." He turned those big eyes onto Emily, "Kyle is a top bloke, mmkay? Don' matter what Car'man says, Kyle's a top freakin' Jew. 'n I love him. He's fuckin' 'mazing. And he pulls this lil' face whenever he's concentratin', ah fuck, it's like the single most cu-"_

_"_Stan_." _

_Emily helped me sit the drunken boy on the ground, back leaning against the stone wall. She seemed to be amused, a lot more light hearted about this whole ordeal than I. _

_Stan seems to look at me, as if only just realizing that I was actualy there, before having tears well up in his eyes. Ah _fuck_. "I need Wendy! I'm such a pathetic fucking mess! I want Wendy!"_

_"I'll call her for you, alright Stan?" I remember rubbing his bicep soothingly as he sobbed, knees tucked to his chest, and head in his hands. Despite seeing him at his drunken worst quite often, this part always gets to me. It always looked like he was completely broken, torn, and only Wendy could make him feel better, feel normal. When I was around at this point, he tended to act worse. "Wendy's gonna make everything better, okay?" _

_He didn't seem convinced at all, even as I held my phone to my ear, Wendy's number being rung. It'd be a miracle if I lived after calling her at this time of night. "Come on my little Marshmellow, it'll be alright."_

_"Hey Kyle?" Wendy Testaburger's smooth, ever perfect voice could easily be heard through the small handheld device, and Stan leaned to the side and heaved, vomit splashing against the concrete and brick._

_-.-.-.-_

Cartman bursts into laughter, clutching his jolly belly with tears streaming down his red cheeks, "MARSH WAS A COCK BLOCK!"

Stan huffs, looking awfully offended as he crosses his arms, "Nah. No I wasn't... Was I?"

I shrug, he might have been, if I was actually looking to get laid. But, with all that's happened so far with Emily, that would have probably impressed her. Ah fuck. "Maybe we should try calling Wendy? Maybe she has some insight on what happened when we were on the phone with her."

Cartman is still laughing. I smirk, "Jesus Fatass, even if Stan _was_ cock blocking me last night, it's not like it was any more effective than your cock blocking skills. All we have to do is see you face, in any way, shape or form, and then BLERG!"

He glares a little, but forces it away to show a childlike smile, "Kyle, I think we should try and figure out where Kinny is as soon as possible. Wendy could very well be the only one to help us out right now."

What the fuck?! REACT YOU FAT FUCKING TUB OF LARD! DON'T JUST ACT LIKE I DIDN'T INSULT YOU! Ga...

"Did you want me to call her...?" Stan looks a little hesitant, and completely petrified as he says this, and I shake my head, no. I could easily do this. I was, after all, the one who called her last night anyway. Plus, I still have my phone in hand right now.

"Well," Wendy's voice comes out clearly from the small, handheld device, as perfect as ever, "it's good to know that you're able to call at a decent hour, Broflovski. What's up?"

"We kinda need to ask you, and I think I should probably apologize for whatever happened last night... We don't exactly remember..." I kind of expected her to give a lecture, but she stays silent, waiting for me to continue, "We're trying to figure out where the hell Kenny is, but at the moment the furthest we've gotten into last night is the point we I called you up, and then Stan puked... So, would you be able to, uh, give some insight?"

She gives a little hum of thought, "You didn't sound intoxicated, Kyle? I assumed that you would, as usual, be the driver of the drunks. Why wouldn't you remember anything?"

"Uh... I have no idea, I don't recall having anything to drink. But, I mean, it's not really time to play-"

"Did you have a hangover this morning?"

"Well, yeah... but-"

"But you didn't have any alcohol?"

"No, but-"

"Then you might-"

"_Wendy_!" Fuck. I just shouted at her. "Sorry, but, this is kind of important, can you tell me anything that might help us out with Kenny?"

She sighs, and there's a pause of silence before she speaks up, sounding apologetic, "I don't know what to tell you, Kyle. We weren't on the phone very long. You said I needed to speak to Stan, but we didn't get that far. Cartman came and wanted to speak with you, and I'm assuming that he hung up on me."

-.-.-.-

_Once again I was inside the club, people were still doing what they must have thought waa dancing, because they hadn't let up on having the clothed sex. It may have intensified, actually. But this time, I wasn't alone. I would have preferred being alone, however, rather than being dragged to the bar by Fatass._

_He offered me a drink, as if he expected me to say yes. I think he... Did he...? He... had a shot glass in his hand... it was fizzing... was that normal? Cartman... it was all too fast... but he... suddenly the foul tasting liquid was... I could taste it... I think it was in my mouth... He was covering my mouth with his hand... forcing my head backwards... I swallowed it..._

_Burning._

_Yes, I remember that part clearly. The burning that stung my throat as it went down. I felt like I was suffocating. Each breath arose a fierce fire that burned in my chest. It was like I was being engulfed in flames._

_Then... nothing. _

_My mind was fuzzy and suddenly my legs felt like jello, but at least the burning had disappeared. In fact, I felt lightheaded. Nothing could turn off the good mood that was suddenly lifting up my spirits. I could have touched the sky! I could have flown!_

_"Ey, Jew boy," Something was blocking off my path, I wanted to dance but whenever I tried moving forward, the wobbly wall was still there. What the fuck? It's so... _squishy_. Each poke caused the flubber to wobble, and, at that moment, it was the single funniest thing I had ever seen. _Ever_. "Follow me,"_

_The flabby wall was leaving. How dare it! I wasn't finished playing with it! I had to follow it, I truly had to! Maybe it would lead me to more of its kind! More wobbly walls. Heh, the idea of that made me so incredibly happy. I wanted to cry from joy._

_So I did. _

_"Eh? Why the fuck are you crying?" The thing was talking, truly talking. You couldn't fake that. You can't fake talking. "Kahl?!"_

_It was mine. All that flabby wall was mine! It chose _me_! Not any other mere mortal humans, _me_! I always knew being Jewish would pay off some day. I hugged the wall, it was all mine. I wouldn't share that amusing wobbly mess with anyone else in the world. _

_I touched it, and it jiggled. _

_It was awesome._

_The wall kept walking, muttering something, and my feet dragged behind the both of us. Yes, I wouldn't have to use my legs anymore, not when I had my flabby ball shaped wall. It could roll me around the world! But... it didn't exactly smell appealing to me. I could handle it, but it needed to change its scent. Badly. _

_It had arms. Arms which pushed me away from it. _

_"Holy heck!" In the corner there was Nyan cat! Why wasn't it flying with rainbows shooting out from it's ass? How boring. But... maybe it lost it's powers... Oh that poor mutated pop-tart cat. I pick it up, but the pop-tart falls away, and it's just a cat. "I don't remember Nyan cat being this small..." Maybe it was the runt of the litter, and the real Nyan cat abandoned it... _

_I stroked its scruffy body, tears streaming down my cheeks. Poor little thing didn't deserve to be left behind. It wasn't it's fault it was born differently. "I swear to Abraham I'll avenge you, little guy. Sh-shh... Don't cry, I'll be your new mummy... Shh..."_

_"Jew!" The wall pulled me backwards, and I fell, barely having enough time to protect the reject kitten. _

_What a mean wall._

_Maybe this magical powder on the ground will do something to affect the naughty wall, "BE GONE BEAST!" _

_It simply fell the floor after impact. Oh._

_The wall pulled me to my feet again, barely paying attention to the future Nyan Cat I cradled in my arms. It was talking, but I was busy watching the way the fat jiggled and wobbled with each word the wall spoke. _

_But there was something he said._

_It made me realize that it wasn't a wall, but Eric Cartman. And I _hated_ Eric Cartman. _

_I gently put down the kitten, watching it scamper back to the corner before I turned my complete, 100% attention onto the male in front of me, "Repeat that last part,"_

_"With it, we can create the ultimate weapon of mass destruction that will completely wipe out the entire Jew race?"_

_"No, the part before that."_

_When I repeated it, I socked him in the face. He fell to the ground and I hit him again. And again. And again. Until finally, "Nyan cat reject? Hey, where'd ya go? I wanna go on an adventure to outta space!"_

_-.-.-.-_

"Well," Stan begins slowly, "that explains the kitten that I found sleeping on your back this morning. I gave it a bit of milk, and I think it's sleeping behind the TV at the moment,"

"I can't believe you hit me," Cartman huffs, completely astonished and angered at this new piece of information, "That is such a low thing to do, especially considering I have been _so_ nice to you these past few days!"

I scoff, annoyed and frustrated that he could possibly see himself as innocent in all this, "I wouldn't have hit you if you hadn't have come onto me, you fucking fatass!"

Stan opens his mouth to speak, but Cartman cuts him off, fueled by his own rage, "What?! I did no such thing you sleazy Jew! I can't believe you would lie about something this massive! ...or tiny..."

"You did!" I assure him, "You said-!" What did he say...? "You said..." It's right there, on the tip of my tongue. What is it that he said?

"See?" Cartman smirks smugly, elbowing Stan a little cockily, "your precious fuck buddy is a liar; he's still all yours."

Stan is still confused, as he rubs his arm where Fatass elbowed him, "I don't know Cartman... Coming onto Kyle does seem like something you would do. I mean, even if you think it means something different, you have come onto him quite a few times..."

"WHAT?!" He is completely gobsmacked and disgusted, "With _Kahl_?! I would never try such a thing, and have never, _ever_, even thought about doing something so, so... BLEGH!"

It hit me. "What the fuck, you fucking sicko! You don't just ask someone for that kind of stuff!"

"You're a liar!" He immediately defends himself, "I didn't ask you for anything! You can't prove that I did!"

Stan looks completely lost, and if I weren't so outraged I would probably puke from sheer disgust, "You did too! The way you're acting now _proves_ it Fatass! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Alright Ky, um..." The raven haired male finally steps in to calm down the obviously oncoming fight, "Settle down?" But he doesn't even know what he's trying to deflate, "Don't do anything you'd regret?"

"Stan! The fucking bastard said he wanted my-!"

"You can't possibly remember that, Jew!" Cartman is quick to cut off my sentence, clearly wanting to dismiss this entire thing as me overreacting, but I can assure you that this is an _under_reaction. "I made sure to drug you so you wouldn't remember a thing!"

"Oh God..."

Stan looks pale, "What did you do...?"

Cartman waves us off with a light chuckle, "Relax! I haven't actually done anything... yet."

"I'm going to puke..." Which is only half true, I feel like I'm going to pass out, first.

"N-no, alright, um..." Stan is desperate to shift the focus onto something else, but what could possibly make this any better? "Let's call Emily!" He sounds too bright and too enthusiastic, "You have her number right, Kyle? We could ask if she's seen Kenny, and he'll know what to do."

"No, dude... dude..." My voice is deader than my nonfunctioning brain, "Why would I have her number...? I'm going to kill myself... I am seriously going to killy myself. I can't believe it."

"Stop being so dramatic," Cartman sighs, somewhere between amused and annoyed, "nothing happened last night. Not that you'd remember anyway."

I hold my head in my hands in complete devastation, "Oh God,"

Stan tries to beam brightly, holding my phone tightly, "Here it is dude; Emily. She must have put it in there without you realizing."

"_Oh God_!"

"That wasn't the best way to phrase that, was it..."

Cartman chuckles, "I thought it was pretty on the nose."

"Shut the fuck up Cartman." Suddenly his focus is shifted onto the phone which is held against his ear, "Yeah, hi Emily! ... No, sorry, this is actually Stan; Kyle is a little, uh... busy right now. ... Heh... yeah that's me. Sorry about that. ... Yes! Actually, we were wondering if you could help us with the whereabouts of Kenny? ... Yeah, the blonde one. ... With Butters? ... Oh. ... They left together? ... Right. ... No, no. You've actually helped a lot! Thank you so much, Emily! ... Alright, he'll call you later. ... You too, bye."

There is nothing but silence for the next ten minutes. Silence which is broken by the opening of the room door, revealing a flustered McCormick boy, clothes ruffed and hair messier than usual.

"Uh, mornin'?"


	6. Two Guys Naked in a Hot Tub

**I'm both afraid, and amused, to have to inform you that all of the 'facts' in this chapter are actually true. So, if you're officially turned off of anything with artificial raspberry flavouring, raise your hand. And please don't sue me Jonathon... I at least wanted to get started on my collection of cats for when I'm a 40 year old virgin. :'(**  
**I had lots of fun ruining many lives in this chapter. Can you tell? And apologies for the relatively short chapter, and for any mistakes or errors. I just really wanted to get onto the next chapter, since that's when things start coming into play, and the story will start to get interesting.**  
**Style Marshlovski, it makes me oh so happy to see that you've been reviewing each chapter, it always gives me a bit of extra drive to write and upload quicker! THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH!**  
**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

Today is our last day on our short 'vacation'. Cartman has left for his final 'meeting', and Stan and Kenny are spooning. Yep. Kenny has his arms wrapped my Stan tightly, like he's hugging a giant teddy bear. And before you say anything, no, it's not creepy for me to be sitting there, watching them. You can't prove that it is.

I want to throw icy cold water over the both of them, as revenge (for the other day, of course), but there's a hint of doubt nagging me. I might possibly be overreacting, just _possibly_, over their relationship. Why does it bother me so much? They were _both_ my friends. But lately the sight of Kenny has made me want to kill him, and it's more than the fact that he's not being faithful. I'll have a 'word' with him about that later.

But realistically, the whole thing shouldn't bother me as much as it is.

That stupid kitten I rescued the other night is still here, choosing to take a nap beside the traitors rather than be with it's hero. I fucking hate that cat. I pick it up, stuffing it down my jacket where it could stay warm; time for the baby to go home.

Hopefully.

-.-.-.-

The freshly fallen snow in South Park usually feels, uh, fresher than it does here. I can't explain it. It's like the snow isn't as crisp or as pure as the stuff back home. It's stupid, shouldn't I be bummed about having to leave today, not excited to return to our quiet little redneck, podunk, white-trash mountain town.

Eh.

The kitten, pokes it head out from the top of my jacket and licks it's nose, mewling softly before plunging itself back into the darkness, nuzzling against me. Awh, that was so cute! If only it wasn't such a fucking dick of a cat. It hasn't been forgiven. Not yet. Not ever.

Most of the street lamps and trees are free from papers, and the posters I _do_ see, are just adverts for some new Penis Enhancer, or some shit like that. Isn't there a law against that? I mean, _kids_ are going to be seeing them posters, sheesh. And it's not like I could take the papers down, shielding the young kids and their innocence, because, let's face it, that would be fucking awkward as fuck if someone were to see me with a bunch of papers advertising a Penis Enhancer.

Actually, speaking of kids, there's one up there! It's a little girl, crying as she takes down a paper from the outside wall of a library. The slight breeze causes it to slip from between her fingers and floats up in the air, too high for her little hand to reach. Now behind her, I put my arm up and catch it for the sobbing girl.

This photo...

"Thank you mister," she whimpered, feebly wiping away the streaming tears from her eyes, trying to put on a brave face, "That's real nice of you to catch it for me,"

I smile at her kindly, not yet giving her what she had accidentally released, "That's alright, but I think I might keep this for myself," Her face drops a little, and I laugh lightly, "You know, as a trade. I'll give you something in return, and I think you'll like what I have to give you, much more than a lousy slip of paper,"

"Are you going to say a rooster?" She asks, wincing as she takes a hesitant step back, "Because sissy warned me about men who want to go around giving little girls their roosters."

"Eh, no..." I shake my head, laughing a little awkwardly as I reach into my jacket and pull out the kitten carefully, "I believe that this is the little guy you've been missing," She takes 'Mr. Snickerdoodle' in her arms, cradling him closely, eyes widened in awe.

The little girl thanked me, then ran off in what was probably the direction of her home.

Well, that's another job welldone by Kyle Broflovski.

Savior.

All knowing.

Hero.

Jew.

Tune in next time folks!

-.-.-.-

"That was not alright! That was _not_ fucking alright!"

I've only just stepped in through the door, and already an argument of sorts has broken out. Not that it hadn't started before I got here, or that anyone even knows that I'm standing right in broad view.

"Look, I already said I was sorry! I don't know what came over me!"

Stan appears to be missing his shirt and is hiding fearfully behind the couch, a large steak knife in his hand, blade pointed in the direction of the pantless Kenneth who stands less than two feet away.

"Stay away! Just stay the fuck away from me!"

I feel as though I should put a stop to this, but honestly, I have no idea what's going on. It might be entertaining.

"How many times do I have to apologize? It's just that you looked like Butters for a few moments back there, stop overreacting!"

Ouch.

"First of all, I look _nothing _like Butters, and I'm mighty offended that you would suggest that I do! GAH! Don't come any closer! Secondly, if it was just a 'misunderstanding' why the fuck didn't it stop after the first time?! I know you, and I know that fucking look in your eyes!"

Kenny is now standing close enough to have the tip of the blade touching his jacket.

"Alright, alright, I get it. _Sorry_. I don't get why you're freaking out though; just the other day you were confessing to me!"

Stan now bolts away from the couch so that he's standing on top of the dining table still wielding his weapon cautiously.

"Back off! I'm a one man kind of guy!"

"You don't even have one man, dude! You have jackshit! Would the outcome change if I were the magnificent Kyle Broflovski?!"

I've just been brought into their lovers quarrel, I probably should step in now, "I'm glad you think I'm magnificent and all, Ken, but, uh, haven't we gotten past the whole 'Super Best Boyfriends' shit?"

The pair both look like they've been caught doing something highly illegal, where the penalty is death. They're silent and unsure, too afraid to speak. It's hilarious.

I clap my hands together, showing an amused grin, "Well then. It's good to see that you're both awake and, uhh, lively. Kenny, it would be wonderful to see you wearing pants right about now. Stan, do you really need a knife? Ugh, give it here and go put a shirt on. Sheesh, I'm not quite sure I want to know what the hell has been going on, but we're leaving in two hours and the place is a fucking mess! ...I see that I have to do everything myself."

Rolling my eyes, I slip out from the lounge room to Kenny's, and shuffle through his luggage until I successfully find a pair of clean pants. ...OK, maybe less than clean, but still, uh... They'll do.

When I come back out, Stan has disappeared but the blonde is still standing frozen near the couch, so I push him on the cushions and force the trousers over his legs. "Oh, well hello Broflovski," He murmurs in a husky voice, grabbing my ass and forcing me to fall on top of him.

"Yes, alright," I roll my eyes, thinking that this is just another childish game to him, "hello to you, too, McCormick." I begin to push on his chest, only to realize that not only is he not loosening his grip on me, but he's _groping_ me, and is that... Oh God it _is_! "Let me go," I say quietly in a strained voice.

His grin widens, "How would you like you test your heterosexuality?"

"Ha-ha, very funny," My voice comes out unamused as I struggle against his unrelenting hold.

He presses me closer, causing _that_ becomes really noticeable, unignorable, against my inner thigh, "Who was joking?"

I punch him in the face. Hard. Then again, harder still. And again... And again... And again... And again... Until, finally, I find myself being dragged off of his unmoving body.

-.-.-.-

The car is tense and silent, music not even playing in the background to ease the thick tension. Stan is driving, his fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel as he glances at me from the corner of his eyes every so often. I haven't stopped glaring at him since we got in the car, probably two hours ago, and I can't even fold my across my chest to show my utter distaste. Hell, I'm not even wearing the seat belt properly!

"So..." Cartman finally pipes up, breaking the two hour silence, "Why is the Jew in Barbrady's handcuffs we stole? And is Kinny dead, or just unconscious?"

He doesn't get an explanation, and so the car is silent once again. My glare unwavering. Did Stan really think that just because my hands were restricted I couldn't continue attacking Kenneth? Now I could _strangle_ him a lot easier! Plus, I could still ki- wait, no I couldn't. Fucking asshole cuffed my legs too, and I can feel the metal around my ankles, still oddly cold on my skin. I had to be carried into the car, because I wasn't able to walk without falling on my face. Guess I'll have to leave this to another day.

I finally turn my eyes to the road.

The raven haired male finally sighs in relief, "Oh thank God. Does that mean I've been forgiven?"

I turn my eyes back onto him, unamused, "No."

"Oh. Well at least you're not glaring anymore!" He beams for a few moments until I send daggers with my eyes in his direction, causing him to cringe, "Point taken."

"EY!" Cartman huffs, sporting a lovely blue, black and red face from when I hit him the other night, "You can't just _ignore_ me assholes!"

My eyes shift back onto the road and my frown deepens, "Sure we can, fatass. Besides, even you should be smart enough to put two and two together." My hands have been gradually growing numb over the course of the trip, and I'm too cranky to even attempt to sooth them. I can barely feel my fingers, but there is nothing I want more than to take these God damn hand cuffs off from my hands and my... I've lost all feeling in my feet, fuck I nearly forgot I even had them.

Feet. Hah.

I know where the keys are, and I know how to get them. So, I should get them right? What if the buttpirate loses focus, and crashes. Into what? There's nothing out here. But even as crashing is still an unlikely possibility, and my brain nags that to be safe it should be an impossible possibility before I should attempt this, my desire for freedom gets the better of me.

Quickly, but quietly, I unclip the seatbelt...

_I will get these fucking cuffs off if it's the last thing I do_.

Stan is frowning a little, eyes completely focused on the road. Yes, now is the time to strike. With a little effort, I move my hand in the direction of my 'friend's' lap, but my restriction causes me to be out of reach of my destination. I don't think Stan has noticed yet, I mean I'm not actually touching him.

I lean my body more so to his side, thanking every kind of God there is that I haven't been found out yet, "Uh-oh..." I fall completely onto him, and he yelps in surprise. Fuck all of them Gods! Fuck them all to hell!

"What the fuck are you doing, Kyle?!" The raven haired boy practically shouts, trying to push me off of him as I struggle to get the key from his pocket, closest to the door.

"Two hands on the wheel, Stanley!" I warn him, "You know how I feel about reckless, unsafe driving!" It's a hassle, an awkward, uncomfortable hassle to slip my hands in through his pockets to receive... nothing. "Alright, cut it out." I force myself up and growl in annoyance.

I _saw_ him put it in that pocket when we got in the car! "Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell were you doing?!"

"With _me_ in the car?!" Cartman huffs in disgust, screwing up his nose, "I don't want to see none o' that shit between you and the hippy!" He kicks the back of my chair, "Leave that for the fucking bedroom." As usual, he is ignored.

My hands come up to my face, as I cover it entirely, my shoulders hunched as my body deflates. I force out a realistic sounding sob, "I just... I don't like this..." I whimper lowly, but loud enough for Stan to hear, "I know what I did wasn't necessarily right, but... but I just felt so..." At this point I burst into tears, my body trembling as shaking, even as a hand rubs my back soothingly, "I didn't know what to do, Stan. It... it was so scary, and I didn't like feeling scared, so I... I didn't stop when I should have, but I felt so fucking pathetic, and I couldn't push him away. I _needed_ to use force or..." My pause offers the car silence, and it doesn't even sound like the engine is running, I think we may have been stopped for a while. "But, I don't think that I should really be locked up like a prisoner because I defended myself. Sure, I still wanna beat the fucking sh-shit out of him, but I _won't_. You have to believe me... Please... You're my best friend, and I'm sorry. I feel so fucking pathetic to be crying over something so useless. But the hand cuffs remind me of what happened, and I don't want to r-remember."

"A-all right..." I hear Stan whisper after a few moment, followed by a bit of shuffling before he grabs my hands gently, and unlocks the cuffs before allowing my to unlock my feet hesitantly and slowly. I make sure to turn my head away from him, so he can't see the smile I'm struggling to suppress. "I-I'm sorry Ky..."

Hook, line and sinker.

"I know you're faking it," He whispers, just as softly.

...what.

"But you should be rewarded for the performance,"

I turn to glare at him and his grinning face, a few tears still staining my cheeks, "Fuck you."

Actually, it's surprising that Cartman hasn't said anything yet, and when I turn to check n him his seat is empty, his door open. What the fuck? Outside, a couple of meters away the fatass is bending forward and dry heaving, a large puddle of vomit already at his feet. Looks like my speech made him sick.

Sweet.

There's stirring in the back seat, followed by a pained moan, "Ah fuck, where the fuck am I?" His eyes open slightly, and he smiles weakly as he looks at me, "Dr Broflovski, doc, I feel pretty terrible, and it's up to you to give me all the help I need to get better. Even those _sexual_ healings."

"_Ken_," Stan says in a low voice, almost pleadingly, and just like that the blonde loses all traces of humour. "We should probably get going when Fatass decides that becoming thin by puking isn't going to make us hate him any less. You need an attitude adjustment before a weight adjustment, Cartman."

The brunette looks up and scowls, wiping the vomit from his mouth on his sleeve, ew, before kicking at the ground and clambering back into the vehicle, "You're just jealous because of my to-die-for physique."

"'to-die-for' all right," Kenny rolls his eyes, his mood unusually dampened, "We'd all be dead if we ate as much shit as you did to get your physique. How is it that you don't have diabetes, but Kyle does?"

Cartman goes to open his mouth, but clamps it shut after glancing in my direction. "Let's just go..."

-.-.-.-

We're almost home. Just another 15 minutes and we'll be in South Park, my fingers thrum on the steering wheel as I smile, relieved. The stereo is playing, and the two boys in the back are playing some kind of card drinking game. Or maybe it's just Go Fish and they take a sip from the bottle of straight Vodka when the other gets a pair.

"Alright, how about this one?" Stan looks up from his phone, a slight look of concentration on his face, "There's this guy, right? His name is Jonathan Lee Riches, and he was placed in the 2010 Guinness Book of World Records for having sued the most people, companies and all that stuff, ever."

"Oh God," I laugh, "What? Did he sue them for doing that?"

He grins, "Yup! But the best part is actually his previous lawsuits. George Bush, the Eiffel Tower, Google, the Roman Empire, the Queen, the Magna Carta, the Wu-tang Clan, Plato and even Nordic Gods."

"You're fucking kidding me," I accuse in amusement, bursting into laughter, "What a dick!"

My friend quickly loses his smile, "Dude, don't do that. Don't call him a dick. What if he sues you?"

I roll my eyes, still smiling, "Alright, uh... Artificial raspberry flavouring." I don't add anything else, and Stan just stares at me for a while, unsure. I turn a corner roughly, causing Cartman and Kenny to yelp in surprise, their cards going everywhere, "Now that I have _everyone's_ attention; Castoreum is the key component used in all artificially raspberry flavoured products, such as jelly, cordials, ice creams, teas, yogurts, etcetera etcetera etcetera, _but_ do any of you actually know where Castoreum comes from?"

Silence.

"It's extracted from a beaver's anal glands."

"That's fucking sick!" Stan screws his nose up in both disgust and horror, "How do you even decide that a beavers ass tastes like raspberry?"

"I know ssomeoness assss th-that tastess like, um," Kenny pauses, staring blankly as he struggles to wrack his brain for an answer that frankly, is bordering on T.M.I, "v-vanilla. 'n' not juss any vanilla, but, um, van-hic-nilla i_ce cream_. Yum."

"Dude..."

Cartman slaps his fat thigh, annoyed, "Y-you ruined our brilliant game offf ssnap ta tell uss that ma favourite flavour comess from a r-rodents ass? F-fuck you Kahl."

I smile sweetly, "Just wanted to ruin a few lives. Carry on."

In the back the boys begin resetting their game, but in the passenger seat a small smile is growing on Stan's lips, "I know what I'm getting Shelly for her birthday; lots and lots of Castoreum. Ugh, alright. Uh..." He looks down at his phone for a few moments, not even looking up as he continues, a bit of surprise in his voice, "An Alaskan town has had a _cat_ as _mayor _for about 15 years now."

"Dog population: zero?" I ask him jokingly, before humming a little, "This is technically two, but there was a Columbian drug lord, Pablo Escobar, who made so much money that he spent $2'500 every month just on rubber bands to bundle up his stacks of cash. And, not only that, but every year about $1'000'000'000 was eaten by rats."

"Well, fuck." He's silent for a few moments, thinking, "One _billion_?" I nod, "Fuck. Alright, ahh... Hey! There's a mutated gene in fruit flies which causes them to die in two days when infected by a certain bacteria. Dude, it's named after some cartoon character who frequently dies. But guess what the name is! No, wait, don't guess. It's called Kenny, and the character's name is Kenny _McCormick_! Heh, what are the odds of that?"

From the mirror, I see Kenny thrust his hands up in the air, hitting the roof, "SOMEONE REMEMBERS! THANK THE MOTHER FUCKING HEAVENS! I HAVEN'T BEEN FORGOTTEN!"

"I bet he's not as big a weirdo as our Kenny. Maybe we should do a trade?" I suggest lightly, wondering what it would be like to have a new friend who could actually die and come back to life! That would be pretty fucking handy, especially with all the freaky shit that goes on in South Park. "Did you know Skittles and Jelly contain crushed insect cocoons which are used to coat the candies to give them that special time?"

"It would be real nice if you could top ruining food for me," Stan sighs almost sadly, before grinning, "Muhammad Ali, being refused a hamburger and told, 'We don't serve Negroes", replied, 'That's OK. I don't eat 'em.' That guy is a fucking legend!"

I smile, "An Intern at NASA once stole a safe full of moon rocks, sprinkled them on a hotel bed, and had sex with his girlfriend on top of them."

"So, they literally had sex on part of the moon?" Stan chuckles, "That's pretty weird. Alright, uhm... A man survived 133 days alone on a raft at sea by fishing, drinking bird blood, and killing a shark with a jug of water. Wait, _what_? How the fuck do you kill a shark with a jug of water?!"

"Uh, splash water into it's eyes?" I offer jokingly, "Both of Jack Black's parent's were rocket scientists, and his mother even worked on the Hubble Telescope."

Stan opens his mouth to come up with some humourous retort but, instead, the annoyingly familiar tune of a song begins to play on the radio, and we send each other a knowing look, smiling devilishly as I turn up the volume, "You're insecure, don't know what for," The grumble from the backseat alerts us that our plan has been successful, and that Kenny knows that this is for him and Bebe, "You're turnin' heads when you walk through the door-or-or! Don't need make up, to cover up! Bein' the way that you are is eno-uh-ugh!"

"Y-you promisssed me, Ssstanleeey!" The blonde whines hitting the back of the seat in frustration, "This wass 'sposed ta be our lil' s-secret!"

Cartman's words are a little more slurred, "Fuckin' fag hippies, th-they're fuckin', uhm... They're fuckin'... Faggy hippies."

"Baby you light up my world like no body else! The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed!" Stan and I are pelting out the lyrics, not even trying to stay in tune with the song, "But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell! You don't know-oh-oh! You don't know you're beautiful! If only you saw what I could see, you'd understand why I want you so desperately! Right now I'm lookin' at you and I can't believe! You don't know-oh-h! You don't know you're beautiful! That's what makes you beautiful!"

"That Harry Styles kid, he's the gayest of the group," Cartman drabbles, leaning closer to us, as if telling a secret, "But Liam Payne and Zayne Malik are the biggest fuckin' hippies. Niall Horan and L-Louis Tomlinson? Holy fuck, don't get me started on them fags."

Kenny rolls his eyes, taking a long swig from the bottle of Vodka, "H-how do you even know all of their, uh, their names, you dooshhh? Harry Styles is as far a-as I get, and that's juss 'cause he was fuckin' Tay-Tay Swizzle."

"It's impo-important to know the namesss of thossse who are gunna d-destroy our ssocsioci-society."

"Everyone else in the room can see it! Everyone else but you-ooh! Baby you light up my world like nobody else! The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed! But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell! You don't know-oh-oh! You don't know you're beautiful!"

The radio switches off by itself. Maybe the Gods are pleading with us to not sing the song. "Hey, cool. We're finally back in South Park."

-.-.-.-

Ike walks into my room and sits on my bed, forcing me to turn away from my computer to glance at him. His black hair is still damp from the shower he had taken, and his soft brown eyes are filled with thought, but he doesn't say anything.

"What do you want?" I ask him boredly, turning back to the computer screen and typing away like I was before he came in.

"I had sex in your bed." He stands up and walks out.

Wait... what?

Fucking hell, not again!

I stare at my phone on my desk to my right, mentally preparing myself for the task I will surely have to follow through with. I had originally planned to put some distance between us, at least for a little while. We need a some time apart, this short 'vacation' of ours had been proof of that, and for me to break this separation after a measly fifteen minutes?

I need a new brother.

One that won't bring home some teacher of his to have sex with in my bed.

Almost with a shaking hand, I pick up the small device and type in the familiar number before holding it up to my ear, biting my inner cheek a little nervously. Why do I feel nervous, you ask? I'd tell you, but that cause the entire fourth wall to crash, never to be rebuilt again, causing hundreds of people like you to come into my 'peaceful' little world. And, to be frank, I'm not sure if I even like you yet. I don't even know your name.

Eh? What was that? It sounded like bricks being smashed? ...oh.

"Kyle?" The familiar voice comes out through the speaker of my phone, and I jump a little in surprise. He sounds a little out of it, but other than that normal. "What's up?"

"Ike had sex in my bed." I explain, drawing little circles on my desk with a quiet sigh.

He chuckles, and I hear the sound of a door closing on his end, "Aw, dude, he really needs to learn to use your parents' bed. But, down to business, will he be gone tonight?"

My lips pull up a little, "I'm sure something could be arranged. Say... Eleven tonight you come over?" He quickly agrees, and I finally press the issue nagging the back of my mind, despite not wanting to drag this out, "Why do you sound sober?"

"Because I am?" He answers, a little uncertain.

"Dude, you were drunk not even twenty minutes ago!" I exclaim, "You and Cartman were drinking vodka and playing card games in the back seat of my car! You even said 'Tay-Tay Swizzle' which is what you call Taylor Swift when you're drunk!"

There's a pause, "You mean it's only been fifteen minutes? Well, that was a quick re-spawn time." I scoff. "You know, I just realized what I was doing today. Wow, heh... That was pretty fuckin' gay of me, 'wanna test your heterosexuality'," He bursts into laughter at his unamusing antics, "Ahh, Sorry dude. I haven't had a proper lay in a while, guess that changes tonight, huh?"

Wait. Had I seriously asked Kenny to come over here and have sex in Ike's bed, knowing full well that he was with _Stan_?! He was going to bring Stan and they were going to have sex with me knowing perfectly well of it! "Aw, fuck!" A dry sob escapes from my mouth, and I bury my head in my hands. My life is over. My innocent, pure Stan Marsh was going to become tainted by the devilish 'sex God'. "Why?!"

"Kyle?"

I was surely going to lose my best friend! This can _not_ happen! I must stake my claim! "Stay away from Stanley, you demonic monster!" I hang up abruptly, my cheeks flushed in anger.

Now, hang on just a second.

I'm acting like a jealous boyfriend.

With an aggravated sigh, I redial Kenny's number, and he picks up immediately, laughter in his voice, "Hey dude, what was that?"

"We need to have a very serious talk, Kenneth," I force out any anger from my voice, "About Stan." He hums a little in an amused reply, "Now, I'm not at all happy with how things have been playing out these past few days, so I'm going to lay down some ground rules to make this work."

"What in the fuckery are you talking about?" He laughs.

"You know exactly well what I'm talking about! And I know everyone sees you as some promiscuous slut, but I thought you were better than this! I thought that you were better than to go around _cheating_ on someone! It's barely been a week since you and Stan got together _officially_, and already you've been fucking preying on other people! Even _me_; your boyfriend's best friend! That's not on, alright! I do not fucking approve! What the hell are trying to prove here! Wendy was a bitch to him, but she wouldn't cheat! Where are your morals, dude? Where are your fucking _morals_?!"

There's a short pause before I hear him burst into laughter, "dude-"

"No, Kenny _no_!" I'm pissed off now that he could laugh so easily about this, "If you thought that Stan was an easy target, you're wrong! Because while he may be lacking confidence in the whole relationship department, you've gotta get through me if you wanna ruin him any more! What if he grows old all alone, because you showed him that guys were cheating pricks, and Wendy showed him that girls were bitches who loved breaking hearts as a hobby! Dude, this is not fucking on!" He's still laughing boisterously. "If you lay a finger on him, I swear to God I will make you hurt, and I'll leave it up to you to imagine where you'll hurt, and how much pain you'll be feeling. Are we clear?!"

"D-d-dude!" He chokes out, barely managing to breathe, "Oh dude you have it all wrong!" His laughter gradually dies down to constant giggles, "Nothing's going on between us, dude." He sighs, amused.

"What...?" All my anger has died down, simmering into a pot of confusion. My mink is completely blank.

"You seriously though Stan and I were dating? Dude! Oh, this is _hilarious_! But it explains so much, like why you seemed to be on your rags the entire time. Don't worry, he's all yours!"

"But... _Huh_?! There were too many coincidences for it not to be true! I-I... What?" I'm at a dead loss, like my world has completely ended. My brain needs to reboot, but at the moment it's still blue screening.

Kenny chuckles a bit, "Name one instance?"

"When you both went out that day, he was limping when he came back. You guys were spooning this morning." a few minutes later... "You gave him a fucking lap dance, dude!" I exclaim, feeling suddenly very tired.

"Firstly, I said _one_. You don't have to give me an entire fucking list. Fuck, man, I'm not going into detail explaining each little one. But the lap dance? You say that like not only did he enjoy it, which he didn't... at all, but like I've never given any of you guys one. Remember, you gave me a black eye just last month for doing it to you!"

Oh... Right.

"You were totally jealous." He snickers.

"Just come by at eleven, you know where the key is. Ike and I won't be here, but our parents will. So try to be quiet." I hang up, groaning and staring at the computer screen. There's no way I can finish it _now_.

All I want is to curl up in my bed and sleep so that my brain can reboot. But I can't do that now can I? Ugh. In the top drawer of my desk there's a box of gloves which I always keep on hand (I see what I did there) in times like these.

With a brother like mine, I've learned that sometimes it's best not to get mad. But to get even.

-.-.-.-

"You didn't drink any alcohol did you, boubie?"

"No ma..."

"You know how I feel about alcohol. It's a very bad thing, and I don't like you drinking it. Someone could have spiked your drink, and taken advantage of you! You could have gotten into a fight or, oh my! Boubie! What's that on your forehead? Where did you get that injury?"

"A boomerang, ma."

"Don't lie to me, Kyle! What really happened?"

"...I was having sex with the guys and hit my head on the bed frame..."

"WHAT WHAT WHAAAT!?"

"A boomerang, ma."

"Kyle, were you trying to be funny? Because I did not find it funny at _all_."

"Sorry, ma."

"You're not gay, are you?"

"No, ma."

"And you really didn't have sex with any boy?"

"No, ma."

"Good! Having sex with another man can lead to many sexual health issues."

"I know, ma."

"Even if you want to experiment, which is perfectly fine, I don't want _any_ penetration going on, young man."

"Alright, ma."

"A-and it's perfectly fine for two men to watch each other masturbate in a hot tub!"

"Gerald!"

"Just letting the boy know, Sheila."

Well then, boubie. You got that? It's perfectly fine if you and one of your friends want to watch each other masturbate in a hot tub."

"Alright, ma."

"But just for experimental purposes!"

"I know, ma."

"And girls, boubie. Have you met any nice Jewish girls recently?"

"No, ma."

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

"Not yet, ma."

"You'd better, boubie!"

"I will, ma."

"I don't want to see all your teeth rotting and falling apart like the British, just because you didn't brush them!"

"I know, ma."

"It's already late, and I don't want you being up all night. I want you to sleep early so you can go into work with your father tomorrow, and be wide awake and energized for that. Alright boubie?"

"Alright, ma."

"Now go brush your teeth, Kyle. Your father and I are going to bed."

"Okay, ma."

And that ends our typical conversation. She interrogates me, and I deal with whatever shit she has to say. But sometimes, I honestly wish that she'd speak to me with more emotion than just her lecturing voice. I'm your _son_, mum! Not some fucking burden. Wait, maybe I am a burden.

...Eh.

With my toothbrush hanging from my mouth I sit at my computer desk, prepared to continue with my 'mission', but I see that I've got a message in the bottom of my screen! And messages are _way_ more interesting than some crappy little massively important 'project'. Oh! It's from Stan Marsh! How lovely, it was even sent just five minutes ago! My lips pull up somewhat mischievously; I'm certainly going to have some fun with this!

**SM-** _Kyle._

...Well that's boring. But I could make this work.

**KB-**_ Stan._

**SM-**_ Jew._

Oh ho-ho! Let the games begin!

**KB-**_ Roman Catholic._

**SM-**_ Nerd._

**KB- **_Jock._

**SM- **_Dick._

**KB- **_Asshole._

**SM-**_ Butt pirate!_

**KB-**_ Dildo!_

**SM- **_Ass licker!_

**KB- **_Ass rammer!_

**SM-**_ Butt fucker!_

**KB-**_ Knob Jockey!_

**SM- **_Ass hat!_

Alright. Here we go. It's time for the ultimate insult... I grin, the toothbrush falling into my lap. Aw... Now my pants are gonna be all minty. Eh.

**KB- **_Marshmallow~_

**SM-**_ ...Fuck you._

I beam, heh heh heh.

**KB-**_ Haha, what do you want, my sweet, cushiony Marshmallow~?_

**SM- **_I'm going to kill you Kyle..._

**KB-**_ Awwh! How cute! You're getting mad! -heart- Did someone upset my widdle Marshmallow baby boy~?_

**SM-**_ Fuck you._

**KB-**_ Alright, what do you want?_

**KB-**_ Marshmallows?_

**KB-**_ Smores?_

**SM-**_ Right now? To kill you._

**KB-**_ Aww, alright. My widdle Marshmallow is having a tantrum! I'm sorry... :(_

**SM-**_ Ha-Ha._

I should probably throw him a bone.

**KB-**_ But seriously, what did you want, Stan?_

**SM-**_ Honestly? I don't even remember._

**SM-**_ And if you even call me 'Marshmallow' one more time, there will be severe consequences._

**KB-**_ Pfft._

**KB-**_ I've never, ever, called you 'Marshmallow', Stan. But... If the shut fits..._

**SM-**_ Don't you dare._

**KB-**_ If the shoe fits, then..._

**SM-**_ Don't you fucking dare._

**KB-**_ Then obviously_

**SM-**_ You'd better stop right this very second._

**KB-**_Then OBVIOUSLY_

**SM-**_ Right now, Kyle._

**KB-**_ Obviously you know..._

**SM-**_ I swear to God, I will cut your fucking dick off._

**KB-**_ That's pretty gay dude._

**KB-**_ But obviously you know that you are:_

**KB-**_ Marshmallow!_

**SM-**_ You're fucking dead._

Silly Stan. Silly, _silly_ Stan. He falls into this trap every single time. I grin evilly, making sure that the toothbrush doesn't fall from my mouth this time.

**KB- **_You can feel it in your heart~_

**KB- **_MARSHM__A__LLOW~!_

**KB- **_You want to sing it to the sky~_

**KB- **_MARSHM__A__LLOW~!_

**KB- **_You gotta stay away from the fire~_

**KB- **_MARSHM__A__LLOW~!_

**SM- **_I'm giving you one more chance._

**KB- **_One more chance __to __what? One more chance to tell you that you're the sweetest, most softest Marshm__all__ow in the packet? _

**SM- **_That's it._

**KB- **_Marshm__a__llow?_

**KB- **_Marshm__a__llow?_

**KB- **_...Stan?_

**KB- **_Stan?_

**KB- **_St__an the Man? *cough*_

It's been like two minutes and he hasn't responded. REPLY GOD DAMN IT!

I'm so _bored_!

**KB- **_S__TANLEY RANDELL MARSH_

**KB- **_...My bestest, most favourite friend in the world?_

**KB- **_Superman?_

**KB- **_PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! I LOVE YOU! _

Rage. I slam down my toothbrush on the desk in defiance, my cheeks filled with minty froth. I really should get to -"WAAAH!"

Before I could process it, I find myself on the ground, my hand, over my mouth in an attempt to suppress my shout, covered in toothpaste, and a weight pressing down on my gut. It's only Stan, of course, with his hand held to make a gun as he presses his fingers to my chest.

I remove my hand in disgust, wiping off any excess toothpaste from around my mouth. Ew. How long had that stuff been in my mouth for? I don't want it on my hands. Yuck. I glare at my supposed best friend, who looks a little taken a back, his eyes shifting to the computer screen, to me below him.

He opens his mouth but shuts it immediately, unsure of what to say. "I am _so_ sorry, dude."

"This is what I get for calling you Marshmallow, huh?" I comment dryly, forcing myself up when he pushes himself away, cheeks coloured darkly, "Should have seen it coming, really."

"Oh God..." He looks really guilty and embarrassed, and it takes a few moments for the reason why to click. He thought-? Oh dear God, this is fucking _gold_!

My eyes flicker from his, to my hand, as I struggle to suppress any hint of humour that might be showing. I open my mouth a little, my eyes widening in horror as my hand slowly moves closer. "No..." I whimper, my breaths coming out hard and fast, as I use my clean hand to try and forcefully push away my other one. "N-no!"

But alas, I am no match for myself, and suddenly my white-covered hand is on my mouth. Poor Stan, he looks horrified. Maybe I've taunted him enough for one day... "Mm, it tastes so _good_," I practically moan, before pulling my hand away and grinning, "Stan, relax, I was brushing my teeth. That's all. And if you don't believe that it's toothpaste, come over here and give me a big _smooch_."

He grimaces before we both burst into laughter. My bedroom door opens, and we silence immediately, staring up at the dark haired male at the door. "Oh, hello Stanley," My father greets, looking between the two of us somewhat awkwardly, "Er, Kyle... You know when your mother said it was OK to experiment, she didn't necessarily mean in the same night as her speech."

Is it just me, or are parents really fucking stupid sometimes?

"But you never gave me the talk." I sigh, almost sadly as I wipe my hand on my pants, "How am I meant to know how to do anything _but_ experiment if you've never given me the talk?"

He looks flustered; this'll be good. "This isn't a matter for _me_ to discuss Kyle. They taught you this stuff at school."

"This is a matter that should go on from Man to Man, dad! Man to fucking man!" He begins to walk out backwards, and my eyes begin to water, "You can't even tell your own son the way the world works? Where am I meant to go? Tell me that?"

"Well, you could..." His eyes flicker to Stan, before back to me. Dad has no idea what to say.

Stan sniffles a little, "My own father won't tell me, Mr Broflovski, and since you're basically like a second dad to me, I thought... I thought... It's just... I'm just _so_ confused!"

Faced with two bawling teenage boys, my father has no other option but to begin the long, and awkward sex talk. Not that anyone's listening of course, because the second he started, Stan and I were out the door, snickering. This is usually a pass time for us; getting our father's to explain things that they would find awkward, and see how long it would take before they would realize no one was there. On one occasion, it was five _hours_, and that was only because Randy noticed when we walked back inside from our day out with Cartman and Kenny.

The time is nearing ten thirty, so Kenny will come by in about half an hour with some girl who found the prospect of having sex in a stranger's house a strong aphrodisiac, and so he'll text me when he's done. Ike won't be back until dawn, that way mum won't even realize that he had been missing.

"Dude!" Stan exclaims as if suddenly realizing something, stopping in the snow, "Do you think Butters has been sent to bed by his parents already?" Of course I do, but even when I say that, my raven haired friend doesn't lose his hopeful realization as he begins walking again, "Well, maybe we could try convince them to let him come out for a bit?"

"If he came out any more, he'd be a flaming homosexual." I mumble quietly, earning a frown and being told to leave him alone. But my words hold no lie in them, I swear! If Butters came out he'd be gayer than gayer! He'd be flamboyantly flicking his wrist, and giggling 'You are _soo_ silly!' or he'd hold his hand gingerly over his breast, wearing this highly comical stunned expression, speaking with a thick lisp, 'did he _really_ say that? Like, O-M-G!' "I'm going to genetically grow a gay person to out gay Butters."

Huh? Where's Stan gone, he was walking by my side a few seconds ago? "Stan?" Oh. He's pulled his hood up and walked away, like he's embarrassed to be around me. I quickly run up to him, throwing my arm around his shoulder. "Naw dude, you know it turns me on when you pretend to not know me. So now, you gotta get me outta this fix you've just put me in. My place or yours?"

He doesn't even glance in my direction as he keeps walking forward, the hood hiding his facial features. But when he raises his arm and flips me the bird, it's message enough.

That.

Wasn't.

Stan.

And the figure just walks on, leaving me standing in place, frozen in horror. The real Stan is standing next to me now, frowning. "Where'd you go dude? Butters house is back that way. He's not even home."

My cheeks are burning, as I just stare at the retreating shadow. "I think I just came onto Craig Tucker." My 'friend' bursts into laughter, although this is in no way funny. No way at all. "No, dude... I seriously just told him that he was turning me on... then asked where we were gonna do it."


End file.
